"CONTFMPT 



i'5 



BY 






Class Jl 6 

Book 



CONTEMPTIBLE" 



SOLDIERS' TALES OF THE 
GREAT WAR 

Each volume cr. 8vo, cloth, 

I. WITH MY REGIMENT. By " PLA- 
TOON Commander." 

II. DIXMUDE. The Epic of the French 
Marines. Oct. - Nov. 1914. By 
Charles LE Goffic. Illustrated 

III. IN THE FIELD (1914-15). The 

Impressions of an Officer of Light 
Cavalry. 

IV. UNCENSORED LETTERS FROM 

THE DARDANELLES. Notes of 
a French Army Doctor. Illustrated 

V. PRISONER OF WAR. By Andre" 
Warnod. Illustrated 

VI. "CONTEMPTIBLE." By "Casu- 
alty." 

VII. ON THE ANZAC TRAIL. By 
" Anzac." 

Philadelphia 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 

London: WILLIAM HEINEMANN 



44 



CONTEMPTIBLE" 



BY 

CASUALTY " 



Philadelphia: J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 

London: WILLIAM HEINEMANN 

MCMXVI 



J3 640 



Printed in Great Britain. 



// 



CONTENTS 



CHAP. 
I 


LEAVING ENGLAND 


PAGE 
1 


II 


CALM BEFORE THE STORM . 


10 


III 


THE ADVANCE TO MONS 


14 


IV 


MONS ...... 


21 


V 


THE BEGINNING OF THE RETREAT 


27 


VI 


DARKNESS ..... 


34 


VII 


VENEROLLES .... 


39 


VIII 


ST. QUENTIN AND LA FERE . 


44 


IX 


SIR JOHN FRENCH 


51 


X 


A PAUSE, AND MORE MARCHING . 


55 


XI 


A REAR-GUARD ACTION 


62 


XII 


VILLIERS-COTTERETS . 


66 


XIII 


HEAT AND DUST . 


74 


XIV 


THE OCCUPATION OF VILLIERS 


78 


XV 


THE LAST LAP . 


86 


XVI 


THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

V 


95 



VI 



CONTENTS 



OHAP. 

XVII THE ADVANCE BEGINS . 

XVIII THE CROSSING OF THE MARNE 

XIX AN ADVANCED-GUARD ACTION 

XX DEFENCE . . 

XXI THE DEFENCE OF TI1K BKANDY 

XXII STRATEGY AS YOU LIKE IT 

XXIII THE LAST ADVANCE 

XXIV SATURDAY NIGHT . 
XXV THE CROSSING OF THE AISNE 

XXVI THE CELLARS OF POUSSEY 

XXVII THE FIRST TRENCHES . 

XXVIII IN RESERVE AT SOUVIR 

XXIX TO STRAIGHTEN THE LINE 

XXX THE JAWS OF DEATH . 

XXXI THE FIELD HOSPITAL . 

XXXII OPERATION . 

XXXIII ST. NAZAIRE 

XXXIV SOMEWHERE IN MAYFAIR 



CHAPTER I 

LEAVING ENGLAND 

No cheers, no handkerchiefs, no bands. Nothing 
that even suggested the time-honoured scene of 
soldiers leaving home to fight the Empire's battles. 
Parade was at midnight. Except for the lighted 
windows of the barracks, and the rush of hurrying 
feet, all was dark and quiet. It was more like 
ordinary night operations than the dramatic 
departure of a Unit of the First British Expe- 
ditionary Force to France. 

As the Battalion swung into the road, the Subal- 
tern could not help thinking that this was indeed 
a queer send-off. A few sergeants' wives, standing 
at the corner of the Parade ground, were saying 
good-bye to their friends as they passed. " Good- 
bye, Bill " ; " Good luck, Sam ! " Not a hint of 
emotion in their voices. One might have thought 
that husbands and fathers went away to risk their 
lives in war every day of the week. And if the 
men were at all moved at leaving what had served 
for their home, they hid it remarkably well. Songs 
were soon breaking out from all parts of the column 
of route. As the Club House, and then the Golf 
Club, stole silently up and disappeared behind 
him, the Subaltern wondered whether he would 



2 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

ever see them again. But he refused to let his 
thoughts drift in this channel. Meanwhile, the 
weight of the mobilisation kit was almost 
intolerable. 

In an hour the station was reached. An engine 
was shunting up and down, piecing the troop 
trains together, and in twenty minutes the 
Battalion was shuffling down the platform, the 
empty trains on either side. Two companies 
were to go to each train, twelve men to a third-class 
compartment, N.C.O.s second class, Officers first. 
As soon as the men were in their seats, the Subaltern 
made his way to the seat he had " bagged," and 
prepared to go to sleep. Another fellow pushed 
his head through the window and wondered what 
had become of the regimental transport. Some- 
body else said he didn't know or care ; his valise 
was always lost, he said ; they always made a point 
of it. 

Soon after, they were all asleep, and the train 
pulled slowly out of the station. 

When the Subaltern awoke it was early morning, 
and they were moving through Hampshire fields 
at a rather sober pace. He was assailed with a 
poignant feeling of annoyance and resentment 
that this war should be forced upon them. England 
looked so good in the morning sunshine, and the 
comforts of English civilisation were so hard to 
leave. The sinister uncertainty of the Future 
brooded over them like a thunder cloud. 

Isolated houses thickened into clusters, streets 
sprang up, and soon they were in Southampton. 



LEAVING ENGLAND 3 

The train pulled up at the Embarkation Station, 
quite close to the wharf to which some half-dozen 
steamers were moored. There was little or no 
delay. The Battalion fell straight into " massed 
formation," and began immediately to move on 
to one of the ships. The Colonel stood by the 
gangway talking to an Embarkation Officer. 
Everything was in perfect readiness, and the 
Subaltern was soon able to secure a berth. 

There was plenty of excitement on deck while 
the horses of the regimental transport were being 
shipped into the hold. 

To induce " Light Draft," " Heavy Draft " 
horses and " Officers' Chargers " — in all some 
sixty animals — to trust themselves to be lowered 
into a dark and evil-smelling cavern, was no easy 
matter. Some shied from the gangway, neighing ; 
other walked peaceably on to it, and, with a " thus 
far and no farther " expression in every line of 
their bodies, took up a firm stand, and had to be 
pushed into the hold with the combined weight 
of many men. Several of the transport section 
narrowly escaped death and mutilation at the 
hands, or rather hoofs, of the Officers' Chargers. 
Meanwhile a sentry, with fixed bayonet, was 
observed watching some Lascars, who were en- 
gaged in getting the transport on board. It 
appeared that the wretched fellows, thinking that 
they were to be taken to France and forced to 
fight the Germans, had deserted to a man on the 
previous night, and had had to be routed out of 
their hiding-places in Southampton. 



4 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

Not that such a small thing as that could upset 
for one moment the steady progress of the Em- 
barkation of the Army. It was like a huge, slow- 
moving machine ; there was a hint of the inexorable 
in its exactitude. Nothing had been forgotten — 
not even eggs for the Officers' breakfast in the 
Captain's cabin. 

Meanwhile the other ships were filling up. By 
midday they began to slide down the Solent, and 
guesses were being freely exchanged about the 
destination of the little flotilla. Some said 
Boulogne, others Calais ; but the general opinion 
was Havre, though nobody knew for certain, for 
the Captain of the ship had not yet opened his 
sealed orders. The transports crept slowly along 
the coast of the Isle of Wight, but it was not until 
evening that the business of crossing the Channel 
was begun in earnest. 

The day had been lovely, and Officers and men 
had spent it mostly in sleeping and smoking upon 
the deck. Spirits had risen as the day grew older. 
For at dawn the cheeriest optimist is a pessimist, 
while at midday pessimists become optimists. In 
the early morning the German Army had been 
invincible. At lunch the Battalion was going to 
Berlin, on the biggest holiday of its long life 1 

The Subaltern, still suffering from the after- 
effects of inoculation against enteric, which had 
been unfortunately augmented by a premature 
indulgence in fruit, and by the inability to rest 
during the rush of mobilisation, did not spend a 
very happy night. The men fared even worse, 



LEAVING ENGLAND & 

for the smell of hot, cramped horses, steaming up 
from the lower deck, was almost unbearable. But 
their troubles were soon over, for by seven o'clock 
the boat was gliding through the crowded docks 
of Havre. 

Naturally most of the Mess had been in France 
before, but to Tommy it was a world undiscovered. 
The first impression made on the men was created 
by a huge negro working on the docks. He was 
greeted with roars of laughter, and cries of, " Hallo, 
Jack Johnson ! " The red trousers of the French 
sentries, too, created a tremendous sensation. At 
length the right landing-stage was reached. Equip- 
ments were thrown on, and the Battalion was 
paraded on the dock. 

The march through the cobbled streets of Havre 
rapidly developed into a fiasco. This was one of 
the first, if not the very first, landing of British 
Troops in France, and to the French it was a 
novelty, calling for a tremendous display of open- 
armed welcome. Children rushed from the houses, 
and fell upon the men crying for " souvenirs." 
Ladies pursued them with basins full of wine and 
what they were pleased to call beer. Men were 
literally carried from the ranks, under the eyes of 
their Officers, and borne in triumph into houses and 
inns. What with the heat of the day and the 
heaviness of the equipment and the after-effects 
of the noisome deck, the men could scarcely be 
blamed for availing themselves of such hospitality, 
though to drink intoxicants on the march is 
suicidal. Men " fell out," first by ones and twos, 



6 « CONTEMPTIBLE " 

then by whole half-dozens and dozens. The 
Subaltern himself was scarcely strong enough to 
stagger up the long hills at the back of the town, 
let alone worrying about his men. The Colonel 
was aghast, and very furious. He couldn't under- 
stand it. (He was riding.) 

The camp was prepared for the troops in a 
wonderfully complete fashion — not the least thing 
seemed to have been forgotten. The men, stripped 
of their boots, coats and equipments, were resting 
in the shade of the tents. A caterer from Havre 
had come up to supply the Mess, and the Subaltern 
was able to procure from him a bottle of rather 
heady claret, which, as he was thirsty and ex- 
hausted, he consumed too rapidly, and found 
himself hopelessly inebriate. Luckily there was 
nothing to do, so he slept for many hours. 

Waking up in the cool of the evening he heard 
the voices of another Second-Lieutenant and a 
reservist Subaltern talking about some people he 
knew near his home. It was good to forget about 
wars and soldiers, and everything that filled so 
amply the present and future, and to lose himself 
in pleasant talk of pleasant things at home. . . . 
The dinner provided by the French caterer was 
very French, and altogether the last sort of meal 
that a young gentleman suffering from anti-enteric 
inoculation ought to have indulged in. Everything 
conspired to make him worse, and what with the 
heat and the malady, he spent a very miserable 
time. 

After about two days' stay, the Battalion moved 



LEAVING ENGLAND 7 

away from the rest camp, and, setting out before 
dawn, marched back through those fatal streets of 
Havre, this time deserted in the moonlight, to a 
sort of shed, called by the French authorities a 
troop station. Here as usual the train was wait- 
ing, and the men had but to be put in. The 
carriages could not be called luxurious; to be 
frank, they were cattle-trucks. But it takes more 
than that to damp the spirits of Mr. Thomas 
Atkins. Cries imitating the lowing of cattle and 
the bleating of sheep broke out from the trucks ! 

The train moved out of the depot, and wended 
its way in the most casual manner through the 
streets of Havre. This so amused Tommy that 
he roared with laughter. The people who rushed 
to give the train a send-off, with many cries of 
" Vive les Anglais," " A bas les Bosches," were 
greeted with more bl eatings and brayings. 

The journey through France was quite unevent- 
ful. Sleeping or reading the whole day through, 
the Subaltern only remembered Rouen, passed at 
about midday, and Amiens later in the evening. 
The train had paused at numerous villages on its 
way, and in every case there had been violent 
demonstrations of enthusiasm. In one case a 
young lady of prepossessing appearance had thrust 
her face through the window, and talked very 
excitedly and quite incomprehensibly, until one 
of the fellows in the carriage grasped the situation, 
leant forward, and did honour to the occasion. 
The damsel retired blushing. 



8 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

At Amiens various rumours were afloat. Some- 
body had heard the Colonel say the magic word 
" Liege." Pictures of battles to be fought that 
very night thrilled some of them not a little. 

Dawn found the Battalion hungry, shivering 
and miserable, paraded by the side of the track, at 
a little wayside station called Wassigne. The train 
shunted away, leaving the Battalion with a posi- 
tive feeling of desolation. A Staff Officer, rubbing 
sleep from his eyes, emerged from a little " esta- 
minet " and gave the Colonel the necessary orders. 
During the march that ensued the Battalion passed 
through villages where the three other regiments 
in the Brigade were billeted. At length a village 
called Iron was reached, and their various billets 
were allotted to each Company. 

The Subaltern's Company settled down in a huge 
water-mill ; its Officers being quartered in the 
miller's private house. 

A wash, a shave and a meal worked wonders. 

And so the journey was finished, and the Battalion 
found itself at length in the theatre of operations. 

I have tried in this chapter to give some idea 
of the ease and smoothness with which this delicate 
operation of transportation was carried out. The 
Battalions which composed the First Expeditionary 
Force had been spread in small groups over the 
whole length and breadth of Britain. They had 
been mobilised, embarked, piloted across the 
Channel in the face of an undefeated enemy fleet, 



LEAVING ENGLAND 9 

rested, and trained to their various areas of con- 
centration, to take their place by the side of their 
French Allies. 

All this was accomplished without a single hitch, 
and with a speed that was astonishing. When the 
time comes for the inner history of the war to be 
written, no doubt proper praise for these prelimin- 
ary arrangements will be given to those who so 
eminently deserve it. 



CHAPTER II 

CALM BEFORE THE STORM 

Peace reigned for the next five days, the last 
taste of careless days that so many of those poor 
fellows were to have. 

A route march generally occupied the mornings, 
and a musketry parade the evenings. Meanwhile, 
the men were rapidly accustoming themselves to 
the new conditions. The Officers occupied them- 
selves with polishing up their French, and getting 
a hold upon the reservists who had joined the 
Battalion on mobilisation. 

The French did everything in their power to 
make the Battalion at home. Cider was given to 
the men in buckets. The Officers were treated 
like the best friends of the families with whom 
they were billeted. The fatted calf was not 
spared, and this in a land where there were not 
too many fatted calves. 

The Company " struck a particularly soft spot." 
The miller had gone to the war leaving behind him 
his wife, his mother and two children. Nothing 
they could do for the five officers of the Company 
was too much trouble. Madame Mere resigned 
her bedroom to the Major and his second in com- 

10 



CALM BEFORE THE STORM 11 

mand, while Madame herself slew the fattest of 
her chickens and rabbits for the meals of her 
hungry Officers. 

The talk that was indulged in must have been 
interesting, even though the French was halting 
and ungrammatical. Of all the companies' Messes, 
this one took the most serious view of the future, 
and earned for itself the nickname of " Les Mise- 
rables." The Senior Subaltern said openly that 
this calm preceded a storm. The papers they 
got — Le Petit Parisien and such like — talked 
vaguely of a successful offensive on the extreme 
right : Miilhouse, it was said, had been taken. 
But of the left, of Belgium, there was silence. 
Such ideas as the Subaltern himself had on the 
strategical situation were but crude. The line of 
battle, he fancied, would stretch north and south, 
from Miilhouse to Liege. If it were true that 
Liege had fallen, he thought the left would rest 
successfully on Namur. The English Army, he 
imagined, was acting as " general reserve," behind 
the French line, and would not be employed until 
the time had arrived to hurl the last reserve into 
the melee, at the most critical point. 

And all the while, never a sound of firing, never 
a sight of the red and blue of the French uniforms. 
The war might have been two hundred miles 
away ! 

Meanwhile Tommy on his marches was dis- 
covering things. Wonder of wonders, this curious 
people called " baccy " tabac ! " And if yer wants 
a bit of bread yer awsks for pain, strewth ! " He 



12 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

loved to hear the French gabble to him in their 
excited way; he never thought that reciprocally 
his talk was just as funny. The French matches 
earned unprintable names. But on the whole he 
admired sunny France with its squares of golden 
corn and vegetables, and when he passed a painted 
Crucifix with its cluster of flowering graves, he 
would say : " Golly, Bill, ain't it pretty ? We 
oughter 'ave them at 'ome, yer know." And of 
course he kept on saying what he was going to 
do with " Kayser Bill." 

One night after the evening meal, the men of 
the Company gave a little concert outside the mill. 
The flower-scented twilight was fragrantly beauti- 
ful, and the mill stream gurgled a lullaby accom- 
paniment as it swept past the trailing grass. Nor 
was there any lack of talent. One reservist, a 
miner since he had left the army, roared out several 
songs concerning the feminine element at the sea- 
side, or voicing an inquiry as to a gentleman's 
companion on the previous night. Then, with 
an entire lack of appropriateness, another got up 
and recited " The Wreck of the Titanic " in a 
most touching and dramatic manner. Followed 
a song with a much appreciated chorus — 



" Though your heart may ache awhile, 
Never mind ! 
Though your face may lose its smile, 

Never mind ! 
For there's sunshine after rain, 
And then gladness follows pain, 
You'll be happy once again, 

Never mind ! " 



CALM BEFORE THE STORM 13 

The ditty deals with broken vows, and faithless 
hearts, and blighted lives; just the sort of song 
that Tommy loves to warble after a good meal 
in the evening. It conjured to the Subaltern's 
eyes the picture of the dainty little star who had 
sung it on the boards of the Coliseum. And to 
conclude, Madame's voice, French, and sonorously 
metallic, was heard in the dining-room striking up 
the "Marseillaise." Tommy did not know a word 
of it, but he yelled " March on " (a very good 
translation of " Marchons ") and sang " lar lar " 
to the rest of the tune. 

Thus passed peacefully enough those five days — 
the calm before the storm. 



CHAPTER III 

THE ADVANCE TO MONS 

The Battalion had arrived at Iron on a Sunday 
morning. It had rested there, while the remainder 
of the British Army was being concentrated, until 
Friday morning. On Thursday night the Battalion 
Orders made it clear that a start was to be made. 
Parade was to be earlier than usual, and nothing 
was to be left behind. Every one was very sorry 
to be leaving their French friends, and there were 
great doings that night. Champagne was pro- 
duced, and a horrible sort of liquor called " alcahol " 
was introduced into the coffee. Such was the 
generosity of the miller's people that it was only 
with the greatest difficulty that the Captain 
induced Madame to accept any payment for her 
kindness. And so in the chill of that Friday 
morning the Battalion marched away, not without 
many handshakings and blessings from the simple 
villagers. The Subaltern often wonders what 
became of Mesdames, and that excitable son 
Raoul, and charming Therese, whom the Sub- 
alterns had all insisted on kissing before they 
left. A very different sort of folk occupy that 
village now. He only hopes that his friends 

escaped them. 

14 



THE ADVANCE TO MONS 15 

The Battalion joined its Brigade, and the 
Brigade its Division, and before the sun was very 
high in the sky they were swinging along the 
" route nationale," due northwards. The day 
was very hot, and the Battalion was hurried, with 
as short halts as possible, towards Landrecies. 
As, however, this march was easily surpassed in 
" f rightfulness " by many others, it will be enough 
to say that Landrecies was reached in the afternoon. 

Having seen his men as comfortable as possible 
in the schools where they were billeted for the 
night, the Subaltern threw off his equipment, and 
having bought as much chocolate as he and a 
friend could lay their hands on, retired to his room 
and lay down. 

At about seven o'clock in the evening the three 
Subalterns made their way to the largest hotel 
in the town, where they found the rest of the 
Mess already assembled at dinner. He often 
remembered this meal afterwards, for it was the 
last that he had properly served for some time. 
In the middle of it the Colonel was summoned 
hastily away by an urgent message, and before 
they dispersed to their billets, the unwelcome 
news was received that Battalion parade was to 
be at three o'clock next morning. 

" This," said he, " is the real beginning of the 
show. Henceforth, horribleness." 

A hunk of bread eaten during the first stage 
of the march was all the breakfast he could find. 
Maroilles, a suburb of Landrecies, was passed, 
and an hour later a big railway junction. The 



16 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

march seemed to be directed on Mauberge, but 
a digression was made to the north-west, and 
finally a halt was called at a tiny village called 
Harignes. The Subaltern's men were billeted in 
a large barn opening on to an orchard. 

After a scrap meal, he pulled out some maps 
to study the country which lay before them, and 
what should meet his eye but the field of Waterloo, 
with all its familiar names : Charleroi, Ligny, 
Quatrebras, Genappes, the names which he had 
studied a year ago at Sandhurst. Surely these 
names of the victory of ninety-nine years ago 
were a good omen ! 

" You've only left Sandhurst a year, you ought 
to know all about this country," some one told 
him. 

A horrible rumour went about that another 
move was to be made at five o'clock the same 
evening, but this hour was subsequently altered 
to two o'clock the next morning. That night a 
five-franc postal order was given to every man 
as part of his pay. 

Even in the height of summer there is always 
a feeling of ghostliness about nocturnal parades. 
The darkness was intense. As might be expected, 
the men had not by any means recovered from 
the heat and exertion of the previous day, and 
were not in the best of tempers. The Subaltern 
himself was so tired that he had to lie down on 
the cold road at each hourly halt of ten minutes, 
and, with his cap for a pillow, sleep soundly for 
at least eight of those minutes. Then whistles 



THE ADVANCE TO MONS 17 

were sounded ahead, the men would rise wearily, 
and shuffle on their equipment with the single 
effort that is the hall-mark of a well-trained soldier. 
The Captain, passing along the Company, called 
his attention to the village they were passing. 
It was Malplaquet. The grey light of dawn 
revealed large open fields. " I expect this is 
where they fought it out," said the Captain. 

Keeping a close eye upon the map, he could tell 
almost to a hundred yards where the boundary 
of Belgium crossed the road. A few miles 
further, a halt for breakfast was ordered, as it 
was about eight o'clock. The Colonel called 
for Company Commanders, and while they were 
away Sir John French, followed by Sir Archibald 
Murray and a few members of the General Staff, 
passed by in motors. 

Amongst the hundred-and-one pictures that the 
Subaltern will always carry in his mind of the 
opening stages of the campaign, this one stands 
out most vividly. The sun was shining, but it 
was still cool. On the right of the road was a 
thick forest of young firs ; on the left, a row of 
essentially suburban villas were being built, 
curiously out of place in that agricultural district. 
The men were sitting on the banks of the road, 
or clustered round the " Cookers," drawing their 
breakfast rations of bread and cold bacon. Then 
the Major came back. There was an expression 
on his face that showed he was well aware of the 
dramatic part he was about to play. Imagine 
him standing by the wayside, surrounded by his 



18 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

Officers, two Sergeant-Majors, and some half-dozen 
senior Sergeants, all with pencils ready poised to 
write his orders in their Field Service Note-books. 
There was a pause of several seconds. The Major 
seemed to be at a loss quite how to begin. " There's 
a lot that I needn't mention, but this is what 
concerns this Company," he said with a jerk. 
" When we reach " (here he mentioned a name 
which the Subaltern has long since forgotten) " we 
have to deploy to the left, and search the village 
of Harmigne to drive the enemy from it, and 
take up a position. ..." 

It was a blow. Officers were frowning over 
their note-books as if afraid they had not heard 
correctly. The enemy here, in the western corner 
of Belgium ? The Major's orders petered out. 
They saluted, and returned to their platoons, 
feeling puzzled and a little shaken. 

The Subaltern had come to this campaign with 
such fresh hopes of victory. This was not to have 
been a repetition of '70 ! France would not have 
gone to war unless she had been strong and ready. 
Inspired with the spirit of the First Republic, the 
French Armies, they had told themselves, would 
surge forward in a wave of victory and beat success- 
fully against the crumbling sands of the Kaiser's 
military monarchy — Victory, drenching Germany 
with the blood of her sons, and adding a lustre 
to the Sun of Peace that should never be dimmed 
by the black clouds of Militarism ! And all this 
was not to be ? He had never even heard that 
Li£ge had fallen, let alone Brussels, and here 



THE ADVANCE TO MONS 19 

were the Germans apparently right round the 
Allied flank. It was astounding, irritating. In a 
vague way he felt deceived and staggered. It was 
a disillusionment ! If the Germans were across 
the Sambre, the French could scarcely launch 
their victorious attack on the Rhine. 

The excitement dispelled his fatigue, but the men 
were openly incredulous. '' The ruddy 'Oolans 
'ere a'ready ! They're only tellin' us that, to 
make us march ! " 

The first fight ! How would it turn out ? How 
would the men shape ? Could the ammunition 
supply be depended upon ? But above all, what 
would he be like ? Would he feel afraid ? If so, 
would he be able to hide it ? Would his men 
follow him well ? Perhaps he might be wounded 
(parts of him shrank from the thought), or killed. 
No, somehow he felt it was impossible that he 
would be killed. These and a thousand more 
such questions flashed through his brain as the 
march continued northwards. 

The hourly halts were decreased from ten to 
about three minutes. The excitement of the 
future dissolved the accumulating fatigue of the 
three days. The very weight of his sword and 
haversack was forgotten. 

It was Sunday morning. The bells of the 
village churches were ringing, and the women and 
children, decked in their Sunday best, were going 
calmly to church, just as if the greatest battle 
that, up to then, history had ever seen were not 
about to be fought around their very homesteads. 



20 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

A waterworks was passed, and at last the cross- 
roads were reached. There was a wait while the 
Battalion in front of them deployed. Officers 
were loading their revolvers, the men charging 
their magazines. One Company left as advanced 
guard, and very soon the Battalion was on its way 
to its appointed sector of the battlefield. 

They threw aside a hastily improvised barricade 
of ploughshares, and hurried on to the little village 
which was to be their especial care in the impend- 
ing battle, known rather inadequately as " Mons." 



CHAPTER IV 

MONS 

Then came the village of Harmigne" — just a 
few cottages on either side of the road, and soon 
the companies debouched from the village to take 
up the positions allotted to them. 

In war it is well known that he who sees most is 
likely to take least away. It was not the soldier's 
duty to gaze about him to see what was happen- 
ing. He must enlarge his bit of trench, and be 
ready to meet the enemy when he himself is at- 
tacked. Therefore, if you ask a veteran of Mons 
about the battle, all he will be able to tell you as 
likely as not is, " Marching, and digging, and then 
marching mostly, sir." 

The Company on the left was astride a railway 
embankment in front of a large mine. The Subal- 
tern's Company was directly in front of the village 
itself; another Company to the right, the fourth 
in local reserve. The work of entrenchment began 
immediately. There was not time to construct a 
trench, as laid down in the Manual of Field En- 
gineering. Each man had to scrape with his 
entrenching tool as big a hole as he could before 
the enemy came upon him. 

21 



22 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

The Subaltern had many things to arrange. 
The "field of fire" had to be "cleared," any 
refuge behind which the enemy might lurk within 
two hundred yards of the trenches had to be, 
if possible, cut down. Sheaves of corn stand- 
ing upright presented the first problem for the 
defence. Should he burn as many of them as he 
could, or overturn them, or beat them down? 
No, sheaves were not bullet-proof. A man 
could be shot behind them just as easily as in 
the open. Moreover, they would serve to hide 
from the enemy artillery the exact lie of his lines. 
The position of his trenches, or rather holes, was 
about a hundred yards in front of the village, as 
it would be the first thing that the German artil- 
lery would " search." The Range-taker took the 
ranges from the trenches to all prominent objects 
in front, with an instrument called the " Barr 
and Stroud." He then made these figures known 
to the four section commanders of the platoon, 
who in turn communicated them to their men. 

Then he had to get in touch with the com- 
manders on either side, and to send off a small 
party to improve what natural obstacles — in this 
case wire fences — lay in front. He next went to 
arrange for the methods of effecting a retirement, 
if it should be necessary, breaking through one or 
two fences so that this could be effected in perfect 
order. As some of the houses were still occupied, 
he went to the owners, and not knowing the French 
for pick and shovel, said : " Monsieur, voulez vous 
me preter des choses pour faire des troux dans la 



MONS 23 

terre?" illustrating it with pantomime. "Ah, 
oui, Monsieur, des pioches ! " As many of these 
as possible were sent forward to the men, together 
with many pounds of biscuits which he brought 
from a shop, and buckets of water for the wounded. 

So busy had he been that he had almost been 
unable to interest himself in the battle which was 
already beginning to develop on the left. While 
he was in the village a stretcher was carried through. 
The body on it was covered with a mackintosh 
sheet, but the man's face was visible, and if he 
had not been so busily occupied, the ashen face 
might have upset him a little. It was absolutely 
calm, and its expression was contorted neither by 
pain nor hate nor fear — the face of one who was 
indifferent, and very, very weak. 

With that he returned to the trenches. " 'Ere 
yer are, sir, I've started this 'un for yer," one man 
shouted. He threw off his equipment, and began 
to dig as he had never dug before. Each spade- 
ful was safety for another inch of his body. It 
was fighting against time for protection of life and 
limb. The work was engrossing, exhilarating. 
Some of the men were too tired, too apathetic, 
too lazy to dig trenches as deep as they might 
have done. They had to be urged, cajoled, en- 
ticed, ordered. 

The day was beautiful, hotter a great deal than 
those the men were accustomed to. The Senior 
Subaltern had been occupying a small hut as an 
advanced post. The enemy came within his range 
in some force, but having the presence of mind 



24 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

to restrain his men from firing, he managed to 
withdraw without loss. All the while the cavalry 
were being rapidly driven in. 

This was about three o'clock, and the sound of 
a terrific bombardment could be heard from some 
miles to the left. This puzzled them, as it was 
naturally expected that the battle would develop 
from the north-east. The regiment on the right 
had been occupying a small copse ; this was set 
alight to the rear of them, and they were forced 
to draw back through it, which must have been a 
terrible operation. 

Fresh meat, in the form of a stew, was brought 
out to the trenches at about three o'clock. The 
bombardment on the left, like a terrific thunder- 
storm, rolled on till dusk. A few aeroplanes flew 
overhead, looking like huge birds in the blue sky. 
As yet the troops found it very hard to distinguish 
the Germans from the English, although several 
pamphlets had been issued on the subject. 

As evening drew on, the trenches began to 
assume a more workmanlike aspect, although when 
one got down deeper than three feet the ground 
was like chalk and very difficult to cut. 

Thus ended that memorable Sunday, when the 
English line, the last hope of the French, was 
pierced at Mons, when the appearance of a huge 
force, above all strong in cavalry, appeared on 
the left of the English line, and rendered the whole 
strategic position of the Allies so dangerous, that 
there was nothing for it but to fall back in order 
to avert a terrible catastrophe. 



MONS 25 

To ensure against surprise, he posted three 
sentry groups to his front. They had not been 
out more than half-an-hour before a huge fusillade 
broke out along the whole line. The groups had 
the greatest difficulty in crawling back to the 
trenches without being shot down in mistake for 
the enemy. He saw that this " peace method " 
would have to be given up; sentries in future 
would have to remain in the trenches. 

Intermittently throughout the whole night firing 
continued. A searchlight had been played con- 
tinually on the lines, and if anything, the artillery 
duel began before it was light. 

This was his first opportunity to watch shell 
fire. The shells sailed overhead so slowly that 
he half expected to see them in their flight. The 
noise they made was very difficult to describe. 
They hurtled, they whizzed, they shrieked, they 
sang. He could imagine the thing spinning in its 
flight, creating a noise something like steam 
escaping jerkily from an engine. 

An English battery was firing from somewhere 
unseen on the right, to meet an attack apparently 
launched on the left. Furious messages were 
passed up the line that the artillery were firing 
on their own men, and whether this was true or 
not, soon afterwards the attack ceased. 

At about seven o'clock the Major gave orders 
to withdraw his Platoon when the Company on 
his right should retire. This surprised him; for, 
knowing nothing of the general situation, he had 
felt that they would hang on, and fight the battle 



26 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

out then and there, to the last gasp. He gave 
orders to his section commanders, and then lay 
down to await the development of events. 

At about nine o'clock a general retirement seemed 
to be taking place on the right. It is a very 
difficult thing to pick upon exactly the right 
moment to retire. If you retire too early, you 
allow the enemy to advance without having in- 
flicted sufficient loss, i. e. you allow him to succeed 
too cheaply, to say nothing of rendering the position 
of units on your flanks precarious. On the other 
hand, if you hang on to your position too long, 
you become committed to a close fight, from which 
it is almost impossible to withdraw without the 
most serious losses. 

There are no hedges in Belgium; the ground 
was perfectly open, and the Subaltern could easily 
see what was happening on the right. It seemed 
to him that some unit delayed too long, for the 
rest of the line showed signs of envelopment. 
Eventually, however, the retirement to the village 
was effected quietly, and without loss. He led 
his Platoon to a second defensive position about 
a mile behind the village, but already shells were 
beginning to drop around, and even beyond it. 



CHAPTER V 

THE BEGINNING OF THE RETREAT 

It was from this point that the great " Retreat 
from Mons " really began. The road in front of 
the Battalion was hit by one or two shells. Ap- 
parently it was being " searched," and so the 
Battalion was hastily moved into the open fields, 
assuming what is known as " Artillery Formation," 
i. e. small collections of troops, moving on the same 
objective, with " irregular distances and depths." 
By this means many lives must have been saved. 
After about a mile of very hurried marching, 
through turnip fields and stubble, the road was 
again reached, and the Battalion was apparently 
out of the enemy's range. 

The heat was beginning to be intense. The men 
had marched for the last three days almost inces- 
santly, and without sufficient sleep. Sunday night 
in the firing-line had been full of excitement of 
battle, and all Monday morning had been spent at 
digging trenches. Imagine the state of the men ! 
Dirty from digging, with a four days' growth of 
beard, bathed in sweat, eyes half closed with want 
of sleep, " packs " missing, lurching with the 
drunken torpor of fatigue, their own mothers 

27 



28 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

would not have known them ! There was no time 
to rest and sleep, when rest and sleep were the 
most desirable things on earth. Those men 
assuredly knew all the agonies of a temptation to 
sell for a few moments' sleep their liberty and 
lives. 

During a halt the Subaltern threw himself so 
heavily in a cabbage patch, that his revolver became 
unhitched from his belt, and when the halt was 
over he lurched to his feet and on, without noticing 
its loss. Careless ? Perhaps, but one of his men 
lost his rifle and never noticed it, because he was 
carrying a spade ! 

There was, however, one consolation. The 
Germans had for the time been shaken off ; although 
the noise of battle could still be heard uncomfort- 
ably near on the left. But if one waits long enough, 
the hottest sun must go to rest, and drag its horrible 
day with it. About six o'clock the Battalion at 
last came up with its " Cookers " and transport. 
Glory of glories, rest had at last been achieved ! 
Never had bacon been so welcome, never tea so 
desirable, so stimulating, so wonderful. 

The Quartermaster-Sergeant had some terrifying 
tales for the Company Mess about disasters on 
less fortunate parts of the line ; but there was no 
time to go into the matter, for the Battalion was 
ordered to parade immediately. This was the 
last straw ! The men had been looking forward 
to, and longing for a good sleep that night. Every 
aching limb of their bodies cried out for rest, and 
here they were going to be put on outpost duty 



THE BEGINNING OF THE RETREAT 29 

for yet another night. Imagine their state of 
mind ! Is there a word to cope with the situation ? 
Assuredly not, though great efforts were made ! 
Darkness fell so swiftly that the Officers had 
scarcely time to " site " the position of their 
trenches. Then the weary business of entrenching 
began again. Have you ever heard the tinkering, 
tapping, thudding sounds made by entrenching 
implements or spades ? None of the men who 
heard it that night will ever forget it. It will give 
them a memory of energy, promoted by the desire 
for safety, clogged by heat and fatigue. 

At about eleven or twelve at night a fair cover 
had been made, and the long-sought rest became 
possible at last — not, however, the sleep that the 
Subaltern had been longing for all day, not com- 
plete oblivion to body and mind, for the fear of 
surprise was upon him even in his sleep, and he 
knew that if his precautions should prove insuffi- 
cient, he would have to answer for sixty good lives. 
In addition there was the cold of the cloudless 
night, and the clinging wetness of the dew. These 
things would not have allowed him to sleep, even 
if he could. 

A fresh day began very similar to the last. 
There were no signs of the enemy to the immediate 
front, so the work of entrenching continued. A 
" fatigue party " went to draw rations, which 
were distributed at about seven o'clock. This 
was their first introduction to " bully " beef and 
hard biscuits. Also, wonder of wonders, a " mail " 
was distributed. 



30 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

He was lying in the corn just beginning to 
eat a biscuit and read a letter, when the voice 
of the Senior Subaltern called him from some- 
where up the line. Thinking that he had got 
another letter, or something of that sort, he did 
not wait to put letters and rations in his haver- 
sack, but went straight to his Senior. " A party 
of Uhlans, about 100 strong, have broken through 
the line further up. We have got to prevent 
them from taking us by surprise on this flank. 
So you had better take a couple of sections to 
keep them off." Commands on the battlefield 
must never be didactic and narrow. Tell a man 
what to do, give him his mission, and how he will 
carry it out, the methods he will employ, are for 
himself to determine. 

He hurriedly collected his men and took up 
a position astride a road that ran behind, parallel 
to the lines. In peace-time manoeuvres one had 
generally been told the direction from which to 
expect the enemy, hours before he actually came ; 
now, when the great game was being played in 
real earnest, he found that he had to guess. The 
Uhlans might have come unsuspecting along the 
road, in which case the game would be his ; or 
they might come blundering along from somewhere 
in the rear and enfilade him, in which case the 
game would most assuredly be theirs. Fortunately, 
the Uhlans did not come at all. 

Meanwhile a very rare and lucky circumstance 
was beginning to be apparent. The enemy were 
actually attacking from the direction they were 



THE BEGINNING OF THE RETREAT 31 

expected ! But this was only to be a rear-guard 
action, so he never saw his rations or letters again, 
after all. 

The Senior Subaltern was left to " hold out " 
in a small cottage in the firing-line until the rest 
had " got away." With characteristic forethought 
and presence of mind he not only got his men away 
without loss, but seized all luxuries in the place ! 

As on the day before, in getting clear away from 
the enemy, the Company had to pass a large 
stretch of ground which was being literally pep- 
pered with shrapnel. The noise was louder than 
it had seemed on the previous day. Thunder 
seemed muffled beside it. Moreover, thunder 
rolled — seemed to spread itself into space — but 
not so with bursting shells. The clap of sound 
caused by one is more confined, more localised, 
more intense. The earth seems to quiver under it. 
It suggests splitting, a terrible splitting. Only 
the nerves of the young and healthy can stand it. 
It would not be so bad if one could see the thing 
whistling through the air, or even when it bursts ; 
but one cannot. After the crash a man may 
scream or moan, totter and fall, but for all one 
can see he might have been struck down by the 
wrath of God. 

The road safely reached, the retreat was con- 
tinued, but under very trying circumstances for 
the Company. The Brigadier in charge of the 
rear-guard action, not having sufficient cavalry 
at his disposal, ordered the Company to take up 
the role of flank-guard to the retreating column. 



32 " CONTEMPTIBLE 

The Company, extended over a long front, had to 
move across rough country, intersected with all 
sorts of obstacles, at the same rate as the infantry 
on the road, " which," as Euclid says, " is impos- 
sible." In war, however, the logically " impos- 
sible " is not impossible really, only very fatiguing. 

Things grew from bad to worse. The men 
could no longer keep their places in the ranks. 
If one had seen them and not known the spirit 
of the British Army, one would have thought that 
they were a dispirited, defeated rabble. Yet, in 
their own minds, the Officers and men had no 
doubts about what was going to happen : they 
were going to fight even though they might not 
sleep; and their determination was shaken not 
one whit. 

There was a very welcome halt for an hour in 
the town, for the men to fill their water-bottles 
and rest. 

The men's feet were beginning to suffer terribly, 
for the road along which they were marching had 
been cobbled — cobbles, not as we know them in 
England, but rounded on the surface — cobbles 
that turned one's ankles, cobbles that the nails 
of one's boots slipped on, that were metallic, that 
" gave " not the fraction of a millimetre. The 
hob-nails in the Subaltern's boots began to press 
through the soles. To put his feet to the ground 
was an agony, and they swelled with the pain and 
heat. The bones of them ached with bearing his 
weight. They longed for air, to be dangling in 
some cool, babbling stream. The mental strain 



THE BEGINNING OF THE RETREAT 33 

of the morning's action was as nothing compared 
to the physical pain of the afternoon. The Colonel, 
seeing his plight, offered to lend him his horse, 
but he thanked him and declined, as there is a sort 
of grim pride in " sticking it." The men, too, took 
an unreasonable objection to seeing their Officers 
avail themselves of these lifts. Then the heavens 
were kind, and it rained ; they turned faces to 
the clouds and let the drops fall on their features, 
unshaven, glazed with the sun, and clammy with 
sweat. They took off their hats and extended 
the palms of their hands. It was refreshing, 
invigorating, a tonic. 

Somebody had heard the General say that they 
should have a rest, a real rest, that night. High 
hopes filled weary hearts. It got about that they 
were to be billeted in that suburb of Landrecies 
through which they had passed, Maroilles. 



CHAPTER VI 

DARKNESS 

At about five o'clock on that aching day, Maroilles 
was reached. All through the streets there were 
halts and delays, intolerable to those in whom the 
want of rest had become a positive passion. At 
last the members of the billeting party were sighted 
— here at last was rest and sleep. . . . 

Many a slip 'twixt cup and lip ! The General, 
followed by the Brigade-Major and an orderly, 
came trotting down the road. A few hasty com- 
mands were thrown at the Adjutant, accompanied 
by gesticulations towards the road leading out of 
the town. Assuredly some fresh devilment was 
rife, and for the moment, anyway, the cup had 
slipped. An attack on the town was expected by 
a large detachment of cavalry. The wretched men 
had to be hurried out, to line a row of hedges to 
the west of the town. They waited about half-an- 
hour, but saw not a sign of the famous square - 
crested Uhlan helmet. It appeared that the enemy 
had been content with destroying the canal bridge, 
which formed the communication between Maroilles 
and Landrecies, and had then withdrawn. There 
was a whole brigade in Maroilles, which was there- 

34 



DARKNESS 35 

fore cut off from the rest of the division, and from 
its natural line of retreat. That, however, did not 
greatly upset the rank and file, and billets were 
at last achieved. 

The Subaltern found that he was billeted in the 
same house as the Headquarters of the Battalion 
— Colonel, Second in Command, Adjutant, etc. 
His servant brought him his valise from the Regi- 
mental Transport, and he began to change the 
offending boots for a fresh pair, without nails. 

Some one procured a footbath, and ablutions 
began. 

The Medical Officer came in to say that the 
Colonel seemed to be very ill. The Subaltern was 
glad he had declined the offer of his horse. He 
then began to shave and wash. Just as he was 
in the middle of this, with his boots and puttees 
off, his Captain came in to say that his Platoon 
was being sent off as infantry escort to a battery 
of artillery. By the time he had redressed himself, 
the Battery and his Platoon had both gone. The 
streets were filled by French peasants, as usual 
excited and garrulous, and by men settling down 
to their billets. The Subaltern failed absolutely 
to discover what route his Platoon had taken, but 
pursuing the road along which they had come, he 
soon left the town. 

It was raining and blowing most fiercely; the 
darkness was intense, otherwise absolute silence 
reigned. Suddenly, excitedly, a voice, saturated 
with fear, cried out from the darkness, " Who goes 
there? " A face, with a bayonet in front of it, 



36 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

loomed up from the side of the road. " Friend ! " 
this tersely. " Sentry, have you seen a battery 
of artillery and a platoon of shires pass here ? " 

" No, sir ; you're nearly in the outpost line. 
There's only Royal Blankshires in front, sir." 

So they had evidently not come this way. Where 
next ? They must be found. He felt that to lose 
his men would be a sort of dishonour. Even while 
he was thinking, a shout was wafted on the wind 
out of the darkness and chasing it, overtaking it 
almost, a rifle shot. It was as if a match had been 
applied to the whole line. With the rapidity of 
wind the crackling spread to either side. 

Soon the whole line in front was blazing away 
into the darkness. Should the Subaltern stop and 
try to lend assistance where he was, or hurry back 
to his own unit? Before long a couple of men 
rushed along the road crying out for Stretcher 
Bearers, and he learnt from one of them that in the 
darkness and confusion of the retreat, British had 
been fighting with British. The pitch darkness 
shrouded every action with a ghastly uncertainty. 

Then news came through that another bridge 
had been captured. A fresh company arrived in 
reinforcement. There was nothing for it but to 
effect a retreat before the morning light could 
betray their weakness to the Germans. Apparently, 
however, the capture of the bridge had only been 
a precautionary measure, for the enemy did not 
press his attack home. 

The Subaltern saw that the best thing he could 
do would be to return to the remainder of his 



DARKNESS 8T 

Battalion at Maroilles. If he were to grope about 
the countryside in the dark, looking for " that 
battery," he would most likely be shot down for 
a spy; moreover, in a little over two hours the 
morning would dawn. So he trudged back to 
Maroilles. 

He felt that he ought to have been on the verge 
of exhaustion from lack of food and from fatigue, 
and he vaguely wondered why he was not. The 
truth was that the excitement of the attack, coupled 
with the chill of the night, had restored him in 
mind and body, although he had marched over 
twenty miles on the previous day, had had no 
sleep that night, and no meal since the evening of 
the battle of Mons. 

The Battalion was taking its rest as well as it 
could on the pavement of the street, so as to be 
ready to move at a minute's notice. The Subaltern 
found his Major, and reported that he had failed 
to find his Platoon. The Major was too sleepy 
to be annoyed. " I expect they'll turn up," he 
said. " We got some food in that house there ; I 
should go and see if there is any left, if I were you." 

Followed a couple of hours or so of interrupted 
sleep, disturbed by the cold. Then came dawn, 
and with it the shells whizzing and bursting over 
the town. 

The retreat of the Brigade had been cut off by the 
breaking of the canal bridge the previous evening, 
so the Battalion had to retire to the east, and not 
to the west. As the Subaltern marched along he 
reflected with grim amusement; on the ease with 



38 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

which the most confirmed Sybarite can get accus- 
tomed to hardships. At home, if he did anything 
early on an empty stomach, he very soon felt faint 
and tired. Now, this was taken as a matter of 
course ; one was only too glad to restore the 
circulation to the limbs, cramped with the cold 
and damp of dawn. 

An hour or so later they ran into a French 
Battalion, apparently preparing to occupy an out- 
post position along the bank of the road. This was 
a cheering sight. Tommy, who had expected to 
fight mixed up in some weird way with " le petit 
Piou-Piou," had not yet seen a Frenchman in 
action. In a vague way he fancied that " the 
Frenchies " had " let him down." He knew 
nothing of the battles of Charleroi and Namur, nor 
of the defence of Verdun, and the French were 
getting dreadfully unpopular with him. Things 
were thrown at any one who ventured to sing the 
" Marseillaise." 

" Oh, ''ere they are ; so they 'ave come. Well, 
that's somethink." 

The "Marseillaise" broke out once again. 

" Look 'ere, Bill, there's too much of this ruddy 
' Marslasie ' abaht this 'ere show." 

" 'Ow d'you mean, Sam? " 

" Why, it's all ' March on, March on.' I'm ruddy 
sick of it I " 



CHAPTER VII 

VENEROLLES 

At this point the Battalion turned in a south- 
westerly direction, passing through a village in 
which the French and English Headquarters were 
quartered in " estaminets " on either side of the 
road. No doubt both were prosecuting their work 
equally successfully, but the Subaltern could not 
help remarking the quietness of the one, and the 
excitement, volubility, and apparent confusion of 
the other. Still, he thought, different people have 
different ways of doing things. 

Apparently to compensate for having no break- 
fast, the Battalion was halted in an orchard. The 
men filled their haversacks with apples and pears, 
and consumed scarcely ripe plums with an avidity 
that made the Officers fear that at least half of the 
Battalion would be in the grip of colic before the 
night. 

Because it was a cloudy day, or perhaps because 
one reaches a second heat in physical and mental 
fatigue, the Subaltern did not feel so bad that day. 
The men, too, recovered their spirits. He began 
to think it was good to march on an empty stomach. 
The sight of French cavalry with their holland- 

39 



40 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

covered helmets and curved sabres, suggested 
ample support. This would mean at least a rest 
before the next fight, he told himself. 

These " dragons " seemed exceedingly intelli- 
gent and superior men. They were quite pre- 
occupied, like men who are going to do some- 
thing. There was none of that inane shouting 
" A bas les Bosches." Later on, some transport 
columns were passed, and the men descended 
from their wagons and distributed bread to the 
English. 

All day long the sound of guns rolled along to 
the right. The sound seemed to move parallel 
to them, otherwise the day's march was uneventful. 
At about half- past five in the evening the Battalion 
suddenly struck the " route nationale," along 
which they had advanced north of Etreux. There 
had been a feeling, once again, that the enemy 
had been successfully shaken off by the rapidity 
of the retreat. 

Once again came disillusionment, for here were 
the Guards' Brigade entrenching themselves for 
the night. Apparently there had been very severe 
fighting around Etreux, which had resulted in a 
check to the enemy, for the moment, at any rate. 
The Regiment, however, passed through Etreux, 
and was eventually ordered to occupy a defensive 
position around the village of Venerolles. Darkness 
fell so suddenly that the Company Commanders 
had the greatest difficulty in selecting good posi- 
tions. Eventually the Subaltern's Platoon was 
placed astride a sunken lane, along the edge of an 



VENfiROLLES 41 

orchard. The position was a happy one, and since 
the hedge that stretched along its front was thick 
and about ten feet high, it seemed safe from 
surprise. 

It was now quite dark, and the men had not had 
a meal since the few biscuits which had been given 
out in the early morning. At last, however, the 
Regimental Transport was heard creaking up the 
small lane which led to the position. Then the 
trouble began. The road was dark, deeply rutted 
and narrow, and crossed by a little stream. A 
nervous horse took fright at the running water, 
dashed up one of the banks, and firmly embedded 
the water-cart, which he was pulling, in the other, 
thus effectively blocking the way. 

When the Subaltern, having seen everything 
safe for the night, was returning to report to the 
Major, he found something akin to confusion in 
the Transport. Horses were neighing, backing, 
plunging, making things worse, as only horses can. 
If the Regiment had been attacked that night, 
and forced to retire, the way was so completely 
obstructed that it would probably have been 
annihilated, as the Transport did not get safely 
away until just before dawn. 

He had had no proper food or drink for twenty- 
four hours, so one can easily imagine how pleased 
he was to see the Major and the Captain seated 
around a table in a little hovel of a cottage, just 
about to demolish some tea and bread and 
marmalade. 

The air was charged with electricity caused by 



42 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

four men nervously awaiting the boiling of the 
kettle, and trying to conceal their impatience. 

" Poor old must have lost himself," said 

the Major, referring to the Senior Subaltern, " or 
he'd be here by now ; he has a wonderful nose for 
food." 

However, half-way through the meal he came 
in, admitting that he had lost himself, and wan- 
dered into another Regiment's lines. 

After the meal they returned to their Platoons, 
and spent the usual miserable night in their usual 
miserable way, cramped by the usual miserable 
damp. Next morning the Regiment was moved 
further out, to the top of the ridge, to protect the 
retreat of the remaining two Brigades and their 
Transport Columns. Luckily the enemy was not 
in sufficient force to drive this covering party in. 

When the Division had got clear away, the 
Brigade resumed the column of route formation, 
and the retreat was continued. Once again during 
the morning a German Taube flew overhead. A 
violent fusillade broke out from the road, from which 
the aeroplane suffered less than the men, as they 
were in too close formation to fire properly. A 
vast quantity of ammunition was wasted, and the 
position and strength of the column was thus 
demonstrated to the airman. It was decided in 
future to hide as completely as possible, whenever 
an enemy aeroplane hove in sight, and not on any 
account to fire at it. 

Later on a German patrol menaced the column, 
but, having forced it to deploy in some measure, 



VENEROLLES 43 

withdrew. The rest of the march passed unevent- 
fully, but the country became less flat than hitherto 
— an addition to their trials ! 

He tried his French on the Battalion's inter- 
preter, who in peace time had been an Avocat 
in Paris, and who told him many things of the 
French Army. He spoke of its dauntless patriot- 
ism, its passionate longing for revenge, fostered 
for many long years of national subservience; 
the determination to avenge the humiliations of 
Delcasse, of Agadir, of the Coronation at Versailles. 
As vivacious and eloquent as only one of his nation 
and calling can be, he praised the confidence of 
the French Army and its " Generalissime." He 
repeated the great names of the army — De Castle- 
nau, Percin, Sarrail, and many more unknown to 
the Subaltern. He spoke with deep feeling. A 
spark of the fire that, in her hours of need, never 
fails his country, had descended upon him, and, 
in the eyes of the stolid British soldiers around, 
transformed him. 



CHAPTER VIII 

ST. QUENTIN AND LA FERE 

In the afternoon a large town was reached, 
probably St. Quentin, through which long trains of 
Motor Transport were rumbling. A halt was made 
some miles to the south of this town. While they 
were taking their evening meal the ever-pursuing 
sound of artillery fire was heard from over the 
ridge. Two of the companies were hastily fallen 
in, and marched away to this scene of activities, 
to undergo probably yet another rearguard action. 
The remaining companies were then set to dig 
themselves in, astride the road. 

As you have seen from these rough descriptions 
of the first three days of the battle in Belgium, the 
most that is seen of the enemy is but a passing 
glimpse. If the Higher Command decide that to 
give battle in any determined measure would be 
to expose their force to unnecessary chances of 
defeat, and to endanger the ultimate success of the 
campaign, it is very unlikely that the infantry 
soldier will see his enemy at a distance of less than 
five or six hundred yards. There is always the 
danger, if the enemy are allowed to come to close 
quarters, that the defenders will find themselves 

44 



ST. QUENTIN AND LA F&RE 45 

so pinned to their ground that it is impossible to 
extricate themselves from their position without 
losses of greater magnitude than would be warranted 
by the success obtained. So far this Division, at 
any rate, had succeeded in their mission of delaying 
the enemy by forcing him to deploy, at the same 
time taking the greatest care to refuse open 
battle. 

Most of the younger Subalterns had very primi- 
tive ideas on the general strategy of the campaign. 
There would be a wait, they thought, as the English 
Army would probably be used as general reserve; 
then there would be " the devil of a battle," ending 
in Victory or Defeat, and followed by a glorious 
life (or death), and that would be the end of the 
matter. It would be over by Christmas, " easy." 
The actual course of events was very different. 
The English had encountered the enemy in the 
first onslaught of battle, and there had been neither 
Victory nor Defeat — nothing but retreat, retreat, 
retreat, over twenty miles a day, in the blazing 
heat of sunny France, with the fear of capture for 
those who lagged behind. . . . 

The fighting was not like those battles on Laffans 
Plain, where you fought quickly and decisively, 
and where, " win, draw, or lose," you were home in 
time for tea. You were told all about it beforehand 
by the Colonel, or Brigadier, and sometimes the 
" show " approached interest. Here everything 
was different. This was the real thing. Yet 
there seemed less reality in it than in the mock 
battles of Aldershot, with their mock situations, 



46 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

tired charges and rattling bolts. Here you knew 
nothing, you were barely told where to move. 
There were none of those charming little papers 
headed : " General Idea, White Army moving on, 
etc. ..." and : " Special Idea, the nth Infantry 
Brigade, commanded by, etc. etc. ..." The 
" General Idea " of this campaign remained 
absolute darkness ; and already pessimists began 
to fear that Christmas would not see them back 
at home. 

As far as eagerness to meet the enemy was 
concerned the " morale " was as high as ever, but 
nevertheless the temper of the troops was begin- 
ning to be badly shaken. They did not understand 
the necessity for retreat ; for not a word had been 
whispered of other set-backs. They had a ridicu- 
lous, but nevertheless firmly lodged, impression 
that this prolonged retreat was just another of 
those needless " fatigues " to which they were so 
often put, and vaguely they resented it, distrusted 
the necessity for it. Mr. Thomas Atkins found it 
difficult to believe in the existence of Germans 
whom he could not see. In a word, he was beginning 
to be " fed up " ; especially the reservists, oldish 
men who had been called from their homes, bundled 
once more into uniforms, hurried to a foreign land 
of which they knew nothing, and pushed into a 
battle which showed great promise of becoming a 
" debacle." 

But you must not blame the men for this. You 
must remember that they had left England before 
the spirit of patriotism had been re-kindled. 



ST. QUENTIN AND LA FfiRE 47 

They felt, and before reams of paper had been 
scattered broadcast to prove the contrary the 
feeling was very prevalent, that great diplomatic 
blunders must have been made for the situation 
to have reached such an impasse. Germany had 
been out for war before : witness Agadir and 
similar disturbances in the diplomatic world which 
occurred with almost monotonous regularity every 
August. Previously war had simply been denied 
to Germany. Why not once again ? And so on, 
and so forth. Probably they did not really believe 
or mean half they said. They were thirsty, 
hungry, and very, very tired. 

The soldier at Malplaquet shook the powder 
from his wig, and grumbled as only a soldier and 
a Britain can. 

His descendant at Mons did just the same thing. 
And after he had got his " grouse " off his chest, 
fought all the better for it. 

Although an alarming rumour reached them that 
the enemy, crowded into motor buses, had already 
reached St. Quentin, nothing disturbed their rest 
during the night, and by dawn the column was 
swinging along the road to La Fere. The men were 
always depressed and weary in the early morning. 
Their spirits never began to rise until eight or nine 
o'clock. Then songs would break out. " Who 
were you with last night ? " " Hold your hand 
out, naughty boy ! " and the inevitable " Tip- 
perary," were the favourites. They would often 
whistle the " Marseillaise." A certain " swing " 
entered into the marching ; there was less changing 



48 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

step, less shuffling. Even their weary faces 
brightened. Jokes became positively prolific, 
and the wit of the barrack-room, considered as 
wit, is far funnier than the humour of the Mess. 
Perhaps it is founded on a deeper knowledge of 
life. 

Towards midday, almost imperceptibly, the 
gist of the songs changed to the sentimental, and 
before very long the heat and fatigue gradually 
overcame the men, and songs ceased altogether. 
As a general rule, after two o'clock the mental 
attitude of the troops might be described as black, 
distinctly black. 

The rumour ran down the column that La Fere 
was to be the termination of that day's march, and 
as La Fere was only a matter of ten miles away, it 
was felt that at last an " easy " day had arrived. 
The road led through very pleasant places along 
a river valley, the opposite slope of which was 
wooded. That morning, too, there was no suspicion 
of artillery fire. It seemed that, for the moment 
at any rate, they had escaped the inconvenience 
of battle. Somebody said that La Fere was 
fortified. Behind its works they would doubt- 
less stand, rest, and then perhaps fight. (Even 
yet they had not learnt the futility of specu- 
lation.) 

Those ten miles were long ones. It almost 
seemed to their tantalised nerves that La Fere was 
not a town, but a mirage. And so it was, or at 
least their thoughts of rest and water and food 
remained " in nebulis." 



ST. QUENTIN AND LA FERE 49 

Outside the town was a road-crossing. One way 
led to the main street of the town, and the other 
way to the south. To the consternation and 
amazement of everybody, the khaki ribbon crept, 
not towards the houses, but seemed for a dreadful 
moment to hesitate, to wobble, then turned its 
head slowly and irrevocably away from the town. 
The men swore. They felt that they were a scale 
on the skin of a long, sombre, khaki serpent, whose 
head had acted contrary to the wishes of its belly. 
And the body of the serpent quivered with indigna- 
tion. The Subaltern himself felt that he had been 
cheated, lured on by false pretences, and generally 
treated shamefully. He knew perfectly well that 
these ideas were groundless and absurd. He knew 
that the halt at La Fere was only rumour; he 
knew long marches were the only thing to save them, 
but in spite of this knowledge he was angry, 
enraged. The blood flew still more to his burning 
cheeks, his teeth snapped together. If he could, 
he would have flown to the head of the column, 
drawn his revolver, and emptied it in the face 
of that General. He positively enjoyed picturing 
the results of such a crime. He chortled over the 
idea of the plump figure falling from the comfortable 
saddle to the hard, hot road. He imagined the 
neat red cap lying in the grey dust. And his boots, 
he knew what they would be like — glossy maho- 
gany ! Why should any one have shining boots, 
when his own were dull and bursting ? Why should 
any one be clean and shaven when his own face 
was smeared with dirt and stubble ? He exulted 



50 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

inwardly at the thought of the death and mutila- 
tion of some one who had never done him the 
slightest harm, and whose efficiency had probably 
saved his life. 

Such is human nature ! 



CHAPTER IX 

SIR .JOHN FRENCH 

A few miles south of La Fere, the Brigade was 
halted in an orchard for its midday rest. Taking 
from his pockets the various parts of his safety 
razor, the Subaltern screwed them together, and 
with the help of a bit of soap, from which the 
biscuit crumbs and chocolate dust of his haver- 
sack had first to be carefully scraped, he shaved. 
As he was returning, lovingly fingering his once 
more smooth cheeks, he saw three large Daimler 
limousines draw up opposite the lines, and recog- 
nised them immediately as the authorised pattern 
of car for the use of the higher British Generals in 
the field. 

An Officer hurriedly got out, and held open the 
door with great deference, while a second alighted. 
The Subaltern easily recognised both. The first 
was the Chief of the General Staff — Sir Archibald 
Murray. He was a figure of middle height, with 
a slight stoop, and slow movements. His face 
was kindly, mobile — not at all the conventional 
military face. The mouth was tight shut, as if 
to suppress all the little humours and witticisms 
that teemed in the quick blue eyes. 

51 



52 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

The other figure, short and dapper in build, 
quick and nervous in motion, need not be de- 
scribed. The blue eyes, the pink skin and white 
hair of the Field-Marshal Commanding-in-Chief 
are known wherever our language is spoken. 

Two of the Colonels came forward and saluted 
as only a senior officer can. A private salutes 
like a machine; a subaltern is awkward, but a 
senior officer manages somehow to insinuate into 
this simple movement deference and admiration, 
backed, as it were, with determination and self- 
reliance. 

It is as if he were to say : "I have the greatest 
esteem for you as a great man. I admire your 
brain and breeding, and will execute your com- 
mands with the precision and promptitude that 
they deserve. But in a lesser sort of way I am 
just the same, a great man; do not forget it ! " 

And in response the salute of the great man 
seems to say : "I heartily appreciate the defer- 
ence which you have shown me, and honour it the 
more as it comes from such a man as you." Like 
the bow of a Versailles courtier, it has its finer 
points, and is not to be learnt either soon or 
easily. 

The men were called round without any for- 
mality, and Sir John French began immediately 
to address them. It was not the first time that 
the Subaltern had heard him speak. As Chief of 
the Imperial General Staff, he used to inspect 
and address the Cadets of the Royal Military 
College, Sandhurst, at the end of each term. And 



SIR JOHN FRENCH 53 

he did it well. The Subaltern remembered the 
sight of the long parade — " three sides of a square " 
the formation was called — and the Generals with 
the skirts of their " frock " coats and the feathers 
in their hats blowing in the wind. But in spite 
of the absence of red coats, and the stiffness 
of parade, this was a more moving harangue 
than any he had heard on the parade ground at 
Sandhurst. 

The Field-Marshal said that the greatest battle 
that had ever been fought was just over. It had 
rolled with the fury of a cyclone from Belfort to 
Mons. Nearly two million men had been engaged, 
and the British Army had emerged from the con- 
test covered with glory, having for three days 
maintained an unbroken front in the face of an 
overwhelming superiority in numbers. Never had 
he been more proud to be a British soldier than 
he was that day. The Regiment had added yet 
another branch to its laurel wreath. It had more 
than sustained its ancient traditions for endurance 
and courage. He was proud of it. 

The enemy had been nearly five to one, and yet 
had been unable to inflict defeat upon them. If 
they had been " broken," the whole of the French 
left would have assuredly perished. Thanks to 
their endurance and obedience in the face of great 
provocation and privation, the Allied armies were 
now free from the dangers that had threatened 
them. No one knew better than he did that they 
would continue to be as brave, as reliable, and as 
soldierly in the future, as they had been in the 



54 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

past, until final victory had been fully accom- 
plished ! . . . 

How they cheered him as he made his way to his 
car ! 

At first the Tommies had not realised what was 
happening. There had been disturbing cries of 
"What's all this abart? " " 'Oo's the 'ole bloke? " 
But they had soon ceased, and in a few seconds 
the men were crowding round with eager faces, 
hanging on the words of their leader. He com- 
miserated with them upon their losses; he under- 
stood what they had been through. In a word, he 
appreciated them, and in the Army appreciation 
is a " rare and refreshing fruit." Although they 
would have died rather than own it, there was a 
feeling of tears behind the eyes of a good many 
of those tough old warriors. The personality of 
the Field-Marshal, and his heartening words, had 
brightened many a grim face, and lightened many 
a heavy load. 



CHAPTER X 

A PAUSE, AND MORE MARCHING 

A village called Amigny was reached at about 
six o'clock in the evening, and here the Battalion, 
in its usual evening state of prostration, was 
billeted. 

The Company settled down in the chief " esta- 
minet " of the place. The decision was a faulty 
one. The old woman who was hostess gave way 
to hysterics at the thought of having to provide 
for five large, hungry and nervous officers. She 
was a horrid old woman — mean, dirty, and if the 
Captain's word could be taken as strict truth, 
immoral. . Still, a roof to cover their heads was an 
unusual blessing, and it was not long before they 
were all sound asleep. 

Next morning there was no parade in the grey 
of dawn. As the first chilly beam of light crept 
into the room the Subaltern turned in his sleep, 
and smiled at the complete luxury of prolonged 
rest. They did not get up till eight, and having 
dressed, washed, and even shaved, they had what 
the " hostess " called breakfast. And still nothing 
happened, no breathless orderly delivered the 
usual order. What bad happened? 

55 



56 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

The Senior Subaltern, who was suspected of 
leanings towards matrimony, began to write a 
letter. 

The Captain, who was energetic, began to play 
billiards on the miniature pocketless table. Later 
on the Colonel came in. It was not an official 
visit, only to warn them to be ready to move at 
any moment. Having thanked the old woman, 
he left in a singularly peaceful frame of mind. 

At half-past twelve they moved on to a small 
hill just outside the village, which they proceeded 
to put into a state of defence. They heard that 
afternoon of a large counter-attack launched in 
the neighbourhood of Guise, which had been suc- 
cessful in temporarily relieving the pressure on the 
British Front. Here it was that they first heard 
rumours of the affair off Heligoland, which had 
become inflated into a tremendous victory for the 
British Fleet. Apparently half the German Fleet 
had been sent to the bottom of the sea, and you 
can imagine the state of enthusiasm that was 
caused by this news. They felt that, no matter 
what might happen to them on the battlefields of 
France, their homes at any rate were freed from 
the menace of the German. To add to their 
jubilation, instead of having to spend the night 
in the trenches they had dug, they were marched 
back, for some inexplicable reason, to their billets 
in the village. 

Next morning they paraded as soon as it was 
light, and the retreat was continued throughout 
the day. 



A PAUSE, AND MORE MARCHING 57 

There was a very marked change in the 
country. The open cornfields were replaced by 
woods of such a dense nature that any operations 
would have been impossible. Curious as it may 
seem, the Subaltern had in some way been upset 
by the previous day's break in the usual marching 
routine. The heat seemed more intense than 
ever; his haversack and equipment more cumber- 
some. But the roads were now avenues, and the 
overhanging branches provided very welcome 
shade. 

They emerged from the woods, once more to 
strike out in the glaring sunlight. Soon a hill 
was seen in the distance, surmounted by a quaint 
and squat tower, very reminiscent of Windsor. 
The houses which clustered beneath it formed the 
little town of Coucy-le-Chateau. They camped 
out in an open field beneath the hill, and by strip- 
ping a couple of haystacks made themselves fairly 
comfortable. They must have very effectually 
shaken off the enemy, for the General did not 
think it necessary to put out outposts. 

The next morning, this time well before dawn, 
the retreat was continued, apparently on Soissons. 
Precisely the same thing happened on this day as 
on the march to La Fere. Soissons was no great 
distance from Coucy, only some eight or ten 
miles, and just when they reached the northern 
heights of the Aisne, and the whole town was 
visible, the Brigade sheered off to the right, and 
clung to the river bank. 

Soissons looked so particularly inviting, the 



58 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

whites and greys and primroses of its walls flash- 
ing in the sun. The sight of a French town (in 
the distance) is very pleasing to any one used to 
the terra-cotta reds of England. The cobbles give 
the streets such a medieval air, the green shutters 
seem so queer, and there is such a disdain of geo- 
metry. But when one gets right into the town, 
a violent change comes over the scene. The 
cobbles that were so pleasantly medieval in the 
distance become, under one's feet, nothing but 
an ankle-turning plague. The stuccoed walls look 
very clean in the distance, but near to, the filth 
of the streets modifies one's admiration. A small 
French town generally reminds one of the out- 
houses and styes of a farm. The air is diffuse 
with the scent of manure. England, with all thy 
drainage system, I love thee still ! 

The road now clung to the river, which was not 
actually crossed until two or three o'clock in the 
afternoon. The bridge was a large and sub- 
stantial structure, and a section of Engineers were 
preparing to blow it up. Before the hour's halt 
was over, the inevitable alarm occurred, and two 
companies were detached to fight the usual rear- 
guard action, under the Major, who was now 
second-in-command. 

The remainder of the Battalion continued the 
march, this time along the south bank of the 
river. 

The heat was as usual intense, and to-day they 
missed the shady trees that had so well protected 
them the day before. A couple of hours later 



A PAUSE, AND MORE MARCHING 59 

they turned abruptly to the left, that is to say, 
southwards, and the Aisne disappeared in a cleft 
of the hills. Winding tortuously at the feet of 
more or less steep slopes — for the country was 
quite changed — progress was not as easy as it had 
been. At last, close on seven o'clock, a halt was 
made on a hillside. 

Men fell to the ground with a grunt, thanking 
God that another of those Hell-days was over. 
Too tired to move, even if the position was an 
uncomfortable one ; too tired to pray for rest ; too 
tired to think ! 

The average man is, I am sure, quite ignorant 
of the effect which extreme exhaustion has on the 
brain. As the weary hours drag by, it seems as 
if a deadness, a sort of paralysis, creeps up the 
limbs, upwards towards the head. The bones of 
the feet ache with a very positive pain. It needs 
a concentration of mind that a stupefied brain can 
ill afford to give to force the knees to keep from 
doubling under the weight of the body. The 
hands feel as if they were swelling until the boiling 
blood would ooze from the finger-tips. The lungs 
seem too exhausted to expand ; the neck too weary 
to support the heavy head. The shoulders ache 
under the galling weight of sword and haversack, 
and every inch of clammy skin on the body seems 
ten times as sensitive as it normally is. The nerves 
in the face and hands feel like swelled veins that 
itch so that they long to be torn by the nails. The 
tongue and eyes seem to expand to twice their 
usual size. Sound itself loses its sharp concise- 



60 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

ness, and reaches the brain only as a blurred and 
indistinct impression. 

But perhaps the reader may say that he has 
once done twenty-five or thirty miles in a day, 
and did not feel half as bad as that. He must 
remember, however, that these men had been 
doing over twenty-five miles every day for the 
last ten days, and that, in addition to the physical 
fatigue, they had suffered the mental fatigue 
caused by fighting. Their few hours of halting 
were generally occupied by trench digging. They 
were not having a fifth of the sleep that such a 
life requires. They were protected neither from 
the heat of noon nor from the chill of dawn. The 
food they got was not fresh food, and their equip- 
ment weighed ninety pounds ! Lesser men would 
have died; men imbued with a feebler determina- 
tion would have fainted. As it was, the transport 
was crowded with men whose feet had failed them, 
and many must have fallen behind, to be killed or 
made prisoner. The majority " stuck it " man- 
fully, and faced every fresh effort with a cool, gruff 
determination that was wonderful. This spirit 
saved the Allies from the first frenzied blow of 
Germany, in just the same way that it had saved 
England from the Armada and from Napoleon. 

The Subaltern realised the value of his men; 
indeed, he felt a wholesome trust and faith in 
them that individual outbursts of bad temper or 
lack of discipline could not shake. They occupied, 
more than they had ever done before, the greater 
part of his thoughts and attention. He made their 



A PAUSE, AND MORE MARCHING 61 

safety and comfort his first care, and protected 
them from ridiculous orders and unnecessary 
fatigue. He found himself watching and playing 
upon their moods. He tried very hard and 
earnestly to make them a good officer. He thought 
that they were the salt of the earth, that there 
never had been men like them, nor would be 
again. 

No sooner had a scanty meal been rammed down 
their throats than they were paraded once more, 
and hurried away to the crest of another ridge. 
One of the Aisne bridges had been left standing, 
and apparently the enemy was across it, and already 
threatening to envelop their position. Having 
reached higher ground they stopped for what was 
left of the night, since it was impossible for the 
enemy cavalry to attack them iti that country. 



CHAPTER XI 

A REAR-GUARD ACTION 

In a couple of hours' time the march was con- 
tinued in the darkness. The men lurched from 
side to side, with brains too fagged to control their 
feet. The Company was sent out to act as flank- 
guard on the top of the crest beneath which the 
column was moving. This movement was very 
tiresome, as they had to move over broken country 
in an extended formation, and to keep up with the 
column which was moving in close formation along 
the road. To compensate for this they were able 
to fill their haversacks with a peculiarly sweet 
kind of apple. 

Later in the morning they emerged from the 
close country into the typical open plains of 
France, covered with corn and vegetables. About 
five or six miles of this, and then the darker greens 
of pine and fir forests appeared in view. 

The General Staff had selected this as the site 
of yet another rear-guard action. One of the other 
Brigades in the Division was already busily engaged 
in constructing a line of trenches not more than 
a hundred yards in front of the woods. To their 
front the view was uninterrupted, offering a field 

62 



A REAR-GUARD ACTION 63 

of fire unbroken by the least suspicion of cover 
from view or fire. 

The artillery was no doubt concealed in the 
woods behind. The men were doing their work 
with a quick, noiseless efficiency that would have 
made you very proud if you could have seen 
them. 

Soon after the Column had passed into the woods, 
the noise of the guns was heard. The Subaltern 
could imagine the whole scene as vividly as if 
he could see it : the van-guard of the German 
Advanced Guard suddenly " held up " by the 
bursting of the British shells; the hasty deploy- 
ment of the German cavalry ; the further " holding 
up " of the main-guard of the Advanced Guard 
while a reconnaissance was being carried out with 
the help, perhaps, of a " Taube." Remember 
that the Germans must have been daily, almost 
hourly, expecting the Allies to make a determined 
attempt to check their continued advance, and 
must have been very nervous of walking into 
some trap. Therefore the Commander of the 
German Advanced Guard would have to discover 
very exactly the nature of the resistance in front 
of him before the Officer commanding the main 
body — some miles behind, of course — could decide 
what force it would be necessary to deploy in 
order to dislodge the enemy from his position. 

This is no easy matter. What the retreating 
army is fighting for is time — time to get clean 
away. Consequently, if the Officer commanding 
the advancing army deploys a larger force than 



64 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

is necessary, he grants his opponent the very 
thing that he wants — time, since the deployment 
of, say, a Division is a very lengthy operation, 
occupying at least three hours. On the other 
hand, if he details too small a force for the work, 
his attack is held in check, and more time than 
ever is wasted in reinforcing it in a measure 
sufficient to press home the attack. 

The Subaltern imagined the long wait while the 
shells shrieked over the heads of the infantry 
towards an enemy as yet unseen. Then the 
enemy shells would begin to feel their way to the 
thin brown line of trenches, and under cover of 
their fire the infantry, now deployed into fighting 
formations, would " advance." Then our men 
would begin firing, firing with cool precision. 
The landscape would soon be dotted with grey 
ants. Machine-guns would cut down whole lines 
of grey ants with their " plop-plop-plop." Shrapnel 
would burst about whole clouds of grey ants, 
burying them in brown clouds of dust. Finally, 
the directing brain would decide that it was time 
to cut and run. The artillery fire would be in- 
creased tenfold, and under cover of it the brown 
ants would scamper from the trenches and dis- 
appear into the green depths of the woods. Soon 
the firing would cease. The retreating party 
would have got safely, cleanly away, having gained 
many precious hours for the main body, and having 
incidentally inflicted severe losses on the enemy. 
The latter, have nothing left to do but to re-form 
(thus losing still more time), would then continue 



A REAR-GUARD ACTION 65 

his pursuit weaker and further from his opponent 
than he had been before. 

At last, striking a clearing, the town of Villiers 
Cotterets was reached. There was nothing to dis- 
tinguish it from a score of other small agricultural 
centres through which the Column had passed. 
The only thing the Subaltern remembers about 
this town is that he handed a French peasant 
woman there a couple of francs on the odd chance 
that she would bring back some chocolate. She 
did not. 

On the further side of the town the Brigade 
Transport, with steaming cookers, was massed 
ready to give the troops a midday meal. This 
was an innovation greatly appreciated. Such a 
thing a's a meal in the middle of the day had not 
occurred since the days of Iron. 



CHAPTER XII 

VILLIERS-COTTERETS 

Twenty minutes later the Column was again 
on the move, but this time not for long. Having 
reached the edge of another forest, a fresh halt 
was made while the Transport was hauled past 
them into the wood. The Transport, known 
technically as " second line " of a Brigade, is a 
very large, cumbersome, and slow-moving affair, 
and it must be protected at all costs, for without 
it the Brigade is lost. 

A swift deployment was then made, and the 
edge of the wood was held astride of the road. 
After everything had been arranged, there was a 
wait of thirty to forty minutes. Nothing could 
be seen, as the position was on the " reverse slope " 
of the incline, but the field of fire was absolutely 
clear for at least two hundred yards in front. It 
is the most trying time of all, this waiting for the 
approach of an enemy you cannot see, and it tells 
on the most phlegmatic disposition. The men 
occupy the heavy moments by working the bolts 
of their rifles, and seeing that they work easily. 
The success or failure of the defence depends 
mainly on the speed and accuracy with which the 

66 



VILLIERS-COTTERETS 67 

defenders " get their rounds off." The Officers 
pace about, making sure of " keeping touch " 
with the units on their flank, discovering the best 
way to retire, and so on. There is at such moments 
an odd desire to give way to the temptation of 
saying to oneself, " Where shall I be in an hour's 
time? " One gazes with a subtle feeling of affec- 
tion on one's limbs, and wonders, " Where shall 
I get it? " Subconsciously one is amused and a 
little ashamed of such concessions to sentimentality. 
The best thing to do under the circumstances is to 
go and check the range-finders' figures, or prepare 
the headlines of a message or two. 

A Taube, like some huge insect with a buzz of 
whirring wings, flew overhead, dropping multi- 
coloured stars from its tail. Then our guns 
" opened the ball." 

There was something blatant and repulsive 
about that first burst of sound. The ferns of the 
forest shivered, as if awakened from a sunny 
dream to face terrible calamities. The trees 
seemed to shake with a delicate fear of what was 
in store for them. The enemy's fire burst upon 
them with a startling intensity. 

There was no point in holding the advanced 
edge of the wood under such a bombardment 
until the actual appearance of the enemy infantry 
made it necessary, so the whole line was retired 
some fifty yards into the wood. By this manoeuvre 
the Colonel lost no advantage, and must have 
saved many lives. 



68 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

Although artillery fire had been a pretty frequent 
occurrence, this was the heaviest the men had 
yet experienced. The noise was ear-splitting; 
the explosions filled the quivering air; the ground 
seemed to shudder beneath them. Branches fell 
crashing to the ground; it seemed as if a god 
was flogging the tree-tops with a huge scourge. 
The din was awful, petrifying, numbing. 

And in the middle of all this inferno, with the 
sight of men with ashen faces limping, crawling, 
or being dragged to the rear, with the leaves on 
the ground smoking from the hot, jagged shell- 
casings buried among them, the Subaltern sud- 
denly discovered that he was not afraid. The 
discovery struck him as curious. He argued with 
himself that he had every right to feel afraid, 
that he ought to feel " queer." He said to him- 
self, " Here you are, as nervous and tempera- 
mental a youth as ever stepped, with a mental 
laziness that amounts to moral cowardice, in the 
deuce of a hole that I don't expect you'll ever 
get out of. You ought to be in an awful state. 
Your cheeks ought to be white, and there they 
are looking like two raw beef-steaks. Your 
tongue ought to cleave to the roof of your mouth ; 
and it isn't. You ought to feel pains in the pit 
of your stomach, and you're not. Devil a bit ! 
You know, you're missing all the sensations that 
the writers told you about. You're not playing 
the game. Come, buck up, fall down and grovel 
on the ground ! " But he did not. He did not 
want to. He felt absolutely normal. 



VILLIERS-COTTERETS 69 

A man sheltering behind the same tree suddenly 
spun round, and, grasping his left arm, fell with 
a thud to the ground. He reeled over, with knees 
raised and rounded back, and staggered imme- 
diately to his feet. " Oh, my arm, my arm ! " 
he moaned plaintively, and turned away towards 
the rear, whimpering a little as he went, and 
tenderly holding the wet, dark-stained sleeve as 
he went. The Subaltern felt that he ought to 
have winced with horror at the mutilation of the 
poor stricken thing, but beyond a slight sinking 
sensation between the lungs and the stomach, the 
incident left him with no emotion. He picked 
up the man's rifle, leant it against the tree, and 
continued to scan the skyline with his glasses, 
feeling all the while a bit of a brute. 

At the same time he experienced a sensation 
of pleasure at the immunity from mental suffer- 
ings that are generally supposed to afflict men 
under these conditions. He felt like a man who 
unexpectedly finds a five-pound note, the very 
existence of which he had forgotten, hidden away 
in some unusual pocket. It was something of 
the same sensation that he used to have at school, 
when by chance he saw other boys working at 
impositions which he had himself escaped. 

The time came when it was no longer expedient 
to remain in the wood, so they advanced, flitting 
from tree to tree, back to the edge of the forest. 
The view was rather restricted from where the 
Subaltern was, apparently on the right of where 
the full force of the attack was breaking. 



70 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

" Plop-plop-plop," the machine-gun spluttered 
with an amazing air of detached insistence. The 
machine-guns strike in battle quite a note of their 
own. Shells, screeching and roaring in their 
frenzy, give an impression of passion, of untameable 
wrath. Rifle-fire is as inconstant in volume as 
piano music; there is something of human effort 
to be heard in the " tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . 
tap-tap-trrrrapp " of its crescendos and diminu- 
endoes. But the machine-gun is different from 
these. It strikes a higher note, and can be heard 
above the roar of the bursting shells. It is 
mechanical, there is nothing about it of human 
passion; it is a machine, and a most deadly one 
at that. 

The Colonel dashed out into the open and 
dragged a wounded gunner into the comparative 
shelter of the wood. Many more acts scarcely 
less heroic were performed. 

At last the moment came to retire. The guns 
had already rattled through the line, and the 
companies drew away from the edge of the wood, 
re-formed with great speed, and were soon marching 
once more in column of route along the road. 

The Subaltern felt exhausted in a way that he 
had never felt so badly before. The withdrawal 
from the actual scene of battle seemed to leave 
a gulf in his inside that positively yawned. It 
was not only the apparent uselessness of trying 
to stem the German tide that depressed him. 
There was something more than that. He felt 
like a man who wakes after a heavy, drug-induced 



VILLIERS-COTTERETS 71 

slumber. The sudden cessation of the intense 
excitement of battles leaves the brain empty and 
weary. At such moments the hopelessness of the 
whole thing appalled and depressed him. The 
uncertainty of the future hurt him. Nor was he 
alone in this state of mind. Not a voice was 
raised to break the throbbing monotony of the 
march. Heads were bent low. 

On they went. Night came down upon them 
and seemed to crush the spirit out of them. As 
they emerged from the wood, the moon rose and 
flooded the broad plain with weird, phosphorescent 
light. They struggled on, swaying with sleep, past 
the ghostly outlines of poplars and hayricks, past 
quiet, deserted cottages and empty stables. There 
was something almost unearthly about that march 
in the moonlight. The accumulated fatigue of a 
long and hot day, the want of food and the re- 
pressing influence of a summer night, all these 
things joined in producing a state of mental list- 
lessness that destroyed the impression of reality 
which things have in the daytime. They were 
drifting down a slow-moving stream; the scenery 
glided by, but the sensation was by no means 
pleasant. The brain was constantly at war with 
the lazy feet, striving to keep them from stumbling 
and the eyelids from closing. Sound was peculiarly 
muffled, as if darkness repressed and shut it in. 
The brain was not commanding the limbs with 
the instantaneous co-ordination of the daytime. 
The sensation that this produced — it is very 
difficult to give any definite idea of it — was an 



72 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

impression of physical and mental incompetence 
and uncertainty. And all the time every ounce 
of the body was crying out to the mind to let it 
lie down and rest. 

That night many men were lost. 

It w r as not until ten o'clock that they arrived 
at a village where they found the " cookers " and 
regimental transport. The Subaltern could not 
help admiring the skill which was constantly 
being shown by the Staff not only in the strategical 
dispositions of the retreat, but in comparatively 
minute details such as this. The Brigade trans- 
port had been guided and collected to a spot 
where it could safely be of service to the battalions. 
Moreover, when the men arrived they found tea 
waiting for them already brewed. Apparently the 
hour of the men's arrival had been timed to such 
a nicety that the meal was just ready for them. 
Assuming the truth of Napoleon's maxim about 
an army marching on its belly, one can easily see 
from these pages that if Staff work had in any way 
failed, or if the Army Service Corps had broken 
down, the Great Retreat would have ended in 
disaster. It was these faultless arrangements of 
the Army Service Corps that served to keep the 
sorely tried army at any rate on its legs. 

A fire had been lighted, and, grateful for its 
warmth, the five Officers of the Company were 
soon clustering round it, sipping out of their mess 
tins rilled with strong, sweet tea, without milk 
but very strongly flavoured with rum. Soon the 



VILLIERS-COTTERETS 73 

worries and painful memories of the day were 
dispelled. A feeling almost of contentment stole 
over them. There is something so particularly 
adventurous and at the same time soothing about 
a camp fire. They had all read books at school 
full of camp fires and fighting and prairies, and 
they had all more or less envied such a life. Here 
it was. But the adventure part of it was so 
minute, and the drudgery and nerve strain so great 
that the most adventurous soul among them had 
long since admitted that " if this was Active Service, 
it was not the life for him ! " 



CHAPTER XIII 

HEAT AND DUST 

The Subaltern did not get to sleep until 
twelve, and the Regiment made another start 
as early as half-past two. It seemed to him that 
when necessity drives there is no limit to the 
nerve force that we have in us ! They marched 
some miles in a westerly direction before they 
rejoined the main road southwards. 

To describe in detail the sufferings of that day 
would be to repeat almost word for word some of 
the preceding paragraphs. It was just as hot as 
usual, just as dusty as usual. An order had come 
from somewhere that there was to be no looting. 
Men were to be forbidden to snatch an apple from 
a fruit-strewn orchard, or an egg from a deserted 
barn ! The owners had already fled from their 
homes, and here Mr. Thomas Atkins was solemnly 
asked to go hungry and thirsty and to relieve the 
enemy of one of his greatest difficulties — feeding 
himself. The Platoon having halted for the usual 
hourly halt outside an orchard, some of the men 
broke into it and began to throw apples over the 
hedge to the others. Seeing the Colonel approach- 
ing, the Subaltern realised that something must 

74 



HEAT AND DUST 75 

be done instantly to avert disaster. : ' What the 
deuce are you men doing? Come out of it!" 
he cried. The men came, looking very dejected. 
The Colonel, pacified, passed by. A second later, 
the glad work of refreshing the troops was being 
carried on by a fresh couple of men. 

It must have been a very similar situation that 
gave birth to a story that has already become 
famous. A Tommy was caught by a " brass hat " 
in the very act of strangling a chicken. Tommy 
looked up. Was he abashed ? Not a bit of it ! 
He did what Mr. Thomas Atkins generally does 
in a tight corner. He kept his head : he rose 
magnificently to the occasion. He did not loose 
the chicken and endeavour to stammer an apology. 
On the contrary, he continued to strangle it. He 
took no notice of the " brass hat." As he gave a 
final twist to the bird's throat he said menacingly, 
" So you'd try to bite me, would you, you little 
brute ! " 

Towards the end of the afternoon the men 
were so obviously exhausted, and the number 
forced to fall out was so great, that a halt had to 
be ordered in spite of previous plans. The men 
threw themselves utterly exhausted on the ground 
on their backs, and lay like so many corpses until 
the march was continued, in the cool of the evening. 

The Subaltern, consulting a fresh map — for 
they had been walking across the ground covered 
by one map every day — learnt to his surprise that 
they were within a few miles of Paris. And so 
also, he thought, were the Germans ! It rather 



76 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

looked as if they were heading straight towards 
the city, and that would mean a siege. It was 
no use worrying about things, but that depressing 
idea was in the minds of most of the Officers that 
evening. Not that the Subaltern cared much at 
the time — it would mean a stop to this everlasting 
marching, and perhaps the forts of Paris could 
stand it; anyhow the German Fleet had been 
rounded up. (That wicked rumour spread by 
the sensational section of the Press had not yet 
been denied.) 

While he was thinking of these things, they 
were moving through a country far more thickly 
populated. Villages began to crowd upon each 
other's heels, and all the villages — cheering sight — 
were full of British soldiers settling down to their 
billets for the night. This was the first they had 
seen of any other Division except their own, 
and the sight rather dispelled the illusion that, 
for all these days, they had been alone and unaided 
in a land of " frightfulness." 

More marching in the darkness ! 

At last, at about nine o'clock, they reached their 
billets, but the word scarcely conveys a correct 
impression of the palatial chateau in which they 
were quartered. There was considerable delay 
in settling the men (which must, of course, be done 
before an officer thinks of his own comfort) and 
in detailing the quarters. At length the officers 
of the company found themselves in a little bed- 
room overlooking a river which they supposed 
to be the Seine. The Captain, who had been sent 



HEAT AND DUST 77 

on in front of the Battalion to allot billets, produced 
with pride some chocolate, sardines, and bottled 
mushrooms. 

The Second Lieutenants went in search of the 
" Company Cookers " to " draw " their tea (in a 
washing jug), while the Senior Subaltern effected 
a felonious entry into the room allotted to the 
General, and purloined all the drinking glasses 
he could lay hands on, making his departure just 
as that worthy Officer was coming up the stairs. 

The house was evidently of the " nouveau 
riche " type. If there was in it nothing that 
could actually offend the eye, there was certainly 
nothing to satisfy it. There was a profusion of 
gilt mirrors, and an aching lack of pictures : the 
lighting was too new and glaring : the upholstery 
too flimsy. But there were baths and soap ! It 
was too late for the baths, but the soap quickly 
disappeared. 

Just when they were settling themselves drowsily 
to enjoy a real sleep, free from the fear of a morning 
attack, protected from the damp of dawn, and with 
quilts of down to cover them, who should come in 
but the Colonel ! 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE OCCUPATION OF VILLIERS 

"I'm sorry," he said, " but we've got to parade 
at two in the morning." 

As soon as the door had closed behind him a 
perfect volley of abuse was heard. They could 
not dismiss from their minds the thought that 
all this sort of thing was unnecessary. And this 
was very natural, as no one had had sufficient 
courage to tell the regimental officer how serious 
the position was. 

Even two hours' sleep, however, is better than 
none. 

As soon as it became light the Subaltern saw 
that they were counter-marching along the same 
road on which they had travelled the previous 
night. What did this mean ? Was a stand going 
to be made at last? Apparently not, for the 
resting-place of last afternoon was passed, and they 
continued to move eastwards. On consulting 
the map, he judged that they were marching on 
Meaux on the Aisne. He had often read of Meaux ; 
was it not the Bishopric of Bossuet, the stately 
orator of Louis XIV? The interest he felt in 
the question helped to take the weight from his 
weary limbs. 

78 



THE OCCUPATION OF VILLIERS 70 

At last they crossed the bridge. Sappers had 
been at work on it for some time, and the prepara- 
tions to blow it up after they had passed were 
almost complete. The first sight of interest was 
the railway station, which was filled with what 
appeared to the Subaltern to be double-decked 
trains. Evidently a French army had detrained 
here. 

The Column swung suddenly round a corner 
and they were almost staggered with the sight of 
the cathedral towering above them. To an eye 
used exclusively to the sight of the dour British 
edifice, there is something very fascinating about 
a foreign cathedral such as this. There is some- 
thing more daring about the style of architecture, 
something more flamboyant, and yet more solid. 
The cathedral seemed vaguely indicative of the 
past grandeur of the Catholic Church. Bathed 
in the early morning sunlight it appeared to exult 
over the mean smallness of the houses that clustered 
at its feet. 

Beyond the cathedral there is nothing at all 
extraordinary about Meaux. Many months after- 
wards one of his nurses told him in hospital that 
she had spent a long time in that very street. She 
had been with her father, the erstwhile Colonel 
of a line regiment, and a specialist in strategy, 
who for the pure love of the thing had laboriously 
gained permission to stay at Meaux and visit the 
famous battlefields of the Marne. She said they 
had been in the very room where General Joffre 
met Field-Marshal French, and had bought the 



80 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

very teapot in which their tea was brewed. She 
rather wondered how many more of these " very " 
teapots had been sold at fancy prices ! 

If Von Kluck made a forward thrust at Paris 
before his sidelong movement to the south-east, 
it was undoubtedly made at Meaux, which was 
the scene of some terrific combats. 

Emerging from the town, the Column branched 
off in a south-easterly direction, and ascended the 
sides of a very steep plateau. Having reached the 
flat ground at the top, a midday halt was made 
in the pleasant grounds of yet another chateau. 

This fresh move was discussed a great deal as 
the men lay at full length in the shade of the trees. 
Evidently there was to be no siege of Paris. They 
were marching directly away from Paris. What 
did it mean ? They would get to Marseilles in 
a fortnight at this rate, and then the only thing 
to do would be to wire for the Fleet, and be taken 
safely home to their mammas ! 

The march went on through the stifling heat 
of the afternoon, and the Subaltern knew that he, 
and most of the men as well, were feeling about 
as bad as it is possible to feel without fainting. 
They marched through a very dense wood, and 
then out once more into the open. Even the 
longest day has its ending, and at last they found 
themselves halted in the usual lines of companies 
in the usual stubble field. A Taube flew overhead 
and all sorts of fire were concentrated on it. 

It was already sunset. After the edge, as it 
were, had been taken off his exhaustion, the 



THE OCCUPATION OF VILLIERS 81 

Subaltern extracted the before-mentioned piece 
of soap, and having, as usual, scraped it ready for 
action, washed his feet in a little stream. He 
did it under the impression that marching for 
that day was over. It is very comfortable to 
wash your hot, tired feet in a cool stream provided 
there is no necessity to put your boots on again. 
If something happens that forces you to do this, 
you are in for a hard and painful job. You would 
not believe it possible for feet to swell like yours 
have swelled. They do not seem like your own feet 
at all. They have expanded past recognition, 
and their tenderness surpasses thought. 

The Subaltern was sitting by the stream edge 
gazing at the flush of golden light in the west, 
when he was awakened by the Major. 

" Well, young feller, I've been looking every- 
where for you. You've got to take your Platoon 
out to this village, Villiers, and occupy it till 
further orders — a sort of outpost position — you 
will be too far from the main body to establish 
touch; you have really just to block the roads, 
and if you are rushed, retire here the best way 
you can." 

Having made sure of the position on the map, 
and asked for a couple of cyclists to accompany 
him, the Subaltern began to put on his boots. But 
they would not go on. It was like trying to get 
a baby's boots on to a giant's feet, and the more 
he tugged the more it hurt. The precious moments 
of daylight would soon be gone, and in the dark 
it would be ten times more difficult to find the 

Q 



82 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

village and block the roads. There was nothing 
for it but to cut the boots, so, unwrapping a fresh 
Gillette blade, he made a large V-shaped gash in the 
top part of each. It was annoying to have to 
spoil good boots, and in addition his feet would 
get wet far sooner than hitherto. 

All superfluous articles of weight had long since 
been thrown away, and consequently he had 
nothing except matches with which to read his 
map in the dark and windy night. The difficulty 
was increased by the fact that the way lay across 
small tracks which were almost impossible to 
distinguish, but eventually, more by luck than 
judgment, he brought his men into a village. Was 
it Villiers? It took him some time to find out. 
There were plenty of people in the village street, 
but the Subaltern could not get coherent speech 
out of any one of them. Fear makes an un- 
educated Englishman suspicious, quickwitted and 
surly. It drives the French peasant absolutely 
mad. That village street seemed to have less 
sense, less fortitude, less coolness than a duck-run 
invaded by a terrier. The Subaltern caught a 
man by the arm and pushed him into a doorway. 

" Qu'est-ce que c'est, le nom de cette village? " 
he said, with as much insistence and coolness as 
he could muster. The poor fellow broke into a 
tirade in which his desire to cut German throats, 
his peculiarly unfortunate circumstances, and his 
wish to get away literally tripped over each other. 

" Qu'est-ce que c'est, le nom de cette village? " 
Followed a flood of words apparently about the 



THE OCCUPATION OF VILLIERS 83 

village. A third time. " Qu'est-ce que c'est, le 
nom de cette village? " At last : " Ah, M'sieur, 
Villiers," with an air of surprise, as if he thought 
the Subaltern had known all the time, and had 
asked merely to start a polite conversation. 

He let the man go, and turned his attention 
to the village street, which presented a terrible 
spectacle of panic. It was obviously unwise to 
allow this mob to leave the village, as they seemed 
to wish, and disperse, shouting and shrieking, 
over the countryside. Very possibly there were 
spies amongst them, who would bring the enemy 
about his ears in half an hour. More likely still, 
the whole excited crowd would wander straight 
into the arms of the Germans, and be treated with 
the well-known restraint of Huns towards the 
unprotected. So he hurriedly placed guards at 
the chief outlets of the village, with orders, in 
addition to the usual duties towards the enemy, 
to prevent the French from leaving it. 

He then returned and tried to pacify the inhabi- 
tants. But his kind, soothing words in execrable 
French did not succeed in dispelling the panic and 
fear. He had to draw his sword (for the purpose 
of intimidation only) and literally to thrust them 
into houses. And he had to get three men with 
fixed bayonets to help him. He did his best to 
make it generally understood that any one who 
came out of his house and made a noise would be 
summarily disposed of. Any sounds of confusion 
would inevitably have drawn the fatal attentions 
of the enemy. 



84 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

He then made a hurried survey of the roads 
leading out of the village, placed sentry groups 
at various places of advantage, and established the 
picket in the centre of the village in a large barn. 
This done, he sent the cyclist orderly to try and 
get into touch with the village on the right, which, 
he had been told, was to be occupied by a platoon 
from another regiment. The cyclist returned to 
report that the village was deserted by the French, 
and that there was no sign of the Blankshires. 
Evidently the O.C. Platoon had not been so 
fortunate in rinding his way in the dark. 

Dawn broke, and the expected order to retire 
did not come. The men slept on, intent on 
snatching as many moments of precious sleep as 
possible. 

Still no orders came. At about eight o'clock 
the Subaltern finally awoke, and went the rounds 
of his groups. There was nothing to report, 
all had been quiet. 

When he got back he found that the men had 
collected quite a good number of eggs from aban- 
doned farmyards, had lighted a fire, and were busy 
making a sort of stew out of bully beef and swedes, 
and (he strongly suspected) a stolen chicken. As 
no orders came still, when he had finished his 
breakfast, he lay down in the shade of an apple 
tree and continued his sleep. He woke up later, 
at about midday, and ate the remainder of his 
rations, and then fell asleep once more. 

He was awakened by the Major. It was about 



THE OCCUPATION OF VILLIERS 85 

four o'clock, and the remainder of the Brigade 
was already on the move. The posts guarding 
the roads were hastily drawn in, and his Platoon 
took its place in the Company as the Battalion 
marched by. 

He felt extremely pleased with the whole ad- 
venture of Villiers. It was the first and only 
time that he had had a completely detached 
command. He had felt the intoxication of undis- 
puted authority ; there had been a subtle pleasure 
in the thought that, as far as help or supervision 
were concerned, he was absolutely alone and that 
the responsibility for anything that might happen 
hung exclusively on his shoulders. The whole 
day had seemed like a Sunday to him — the first 
real Sunday since ages and ages ago he had left 
England, the easy land of peace. 

There had been an air of quietness about that 
afternoon which is peculiar to Sundays, and he 
congratulated himself on the hours of sleep that 
he had been able to put in. 

H From his own point of view the whole war 
began to seem like an organised campaign of 
things in general to hustle him about in the heat 
until he died from want of sleep ! 



CHAPTER XV 

THE LAST LAP 

On every side the results of long marches were 
only too plain. Spirits were damped. There were 
fewer songs, and no jokes. The men were not by 
any means " downhearted," and would rather have 
died than admit that they were depressed, but the 
brightness was all rubbed off, and a moroseness, 
a dense, too-tired-to-worry taciturnity had set in 
that was almost bullet-proof. 

Although the familiar sounds of artillery boomed 
away quite close to them they were not deployed, 
and when it was dark they bivouacked along the 
side of the road. 

That night the Colonel addressed the Officers at 
some length. " The old man " always had an 
impressive way of speaking, and darkness and 
overwrought nerves doubtless magnified this. He 
spoke in subdued tones, as if awed by the intense 
silence of the night. 

We all could tell where we were, he said — a few 
miles east, or even south-east by east of the French 
Capital. Our base, Havre, lay to the north-west, 
with the enemy in between. It was unnecessary 

86 



THE LAST LAP 87 

to say anything further. The facts spoke for them- 
selves. The British Army was up against it, none 
could tell what would happen next. One duty, 
however, was self-evident, and that was to watch 
the food-supply. 

Things were going to be serious. Henceforward 
the army was to be on half rations, and he knew 
what that meant. He had been on " half rations " 
in the South African War, and he had seen a man 
give a franc for a dirty biscuit, and he knew what 
it was for soldiers on active service to be hungry. 
He ordered us, he begged and prayed them, to 
spare no energy in stopping waste of any descrip- 
tion, and making their men realise the gravity of 
the position. No Officer was in future to draw any 
rations from the Company Cookers, and the Mess 
Sergeant had somehow procured and victualed a 
mess-cart. 

That night must have been the most fateful 
night in the history of France. All the world was 
watching with bated breath, watching to see 
whether France was really a " back number " — 
whether the Prussian was truly the salt of the 
earth. If Paris fell, the French Armies in the field 
were cut off from their base; defeat was certain, 
and the national history of France, or, at any rate, 
the glory of it, would be stamped out for ever 
under the Kaiser's heel. The fate of France was 
in the balance, and also the fate of the Russian 
Armies. If Paris fell, Europe might be as much 
the slave of Prussia as it had been a century 
ago of Napoleon. As for England, if her Fleet 



88 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

could master the German, well and good. But, 
if not. . . . 

It looked as if the enemy were within an ace of 
victory. He had flooded Belgium and Luxem- 
bourg with his armies, and, at the first clash of 
arms, had hurled everything before him in a manner 
which to the civilian must have appeared terrible 
in its completeness. Several times had the de- 
fenders apparently attempted to stand, and as 
many times had they been hurled with even greater 
violence southwards. And now, before the cam- 
paign was a month old, the enemy were within an 
ace of the most complete victory of modern times. 
Many men will never forget that night — men on 
either side with high commands. 

How the Kaiser must have chuckled when the 
French Cabinet left for Bordeaux ! Bombastic 
phrases were perchance chasing themselves through 
his perverted mind. How fine he would look at 
Versailles, strutting about the Hall of Victories. 
He would sleep in the bed of the " Grand Monar- 
que " — and in Les Invalides how he would smile 
at the tomb of Napoleon ! Perhaps his statesmen 
were that very night drafting the terms of peace 
that a crushed adversary would be only too thank- 
ful to accept. His day had come at last ! Hence- 
forward how he would laugh at Democracy and 
Socialism. He would show them that he was 
master. The best weapon in all the world was 
sudden, bloody war. He would show his people 
that he was their Master, their Salvation, their 



THE LAST LAP 8t 

War Lord. He was the greatest man in history, 
so he thought that night. 

There may come a time when he will realise 
that, after all, he was only the most contemptible 
and pitiable. But that is by the way. 

His Generals could not have been so sure. They 
must have seen the exhaustion of their men. 
Von Kluck must have already felt the weight of 
the army, rushed out of Paris by General Gallieni, 
that threatened to envelop his right flank. Von 
Heeringen must have realised that the offensive 
was being wrenched from his grasp. And the 
Crown Prince was throwing himself in vain upon 
the forts of Verdun and Nancy. 

That night, too, somewhere behind the French 
lines, a man of very different stamp from the 
Kaiser was putting the final touches to the prepara- 
tions of the greatest counter-attack in History. 
He knew that the enemy had literally overstepped 
his lines of communications, was exhausted, and 
nervous of failure so far from his bases. He knew 
that as long as de Castelnau clung on to the 
heights around Verdun, his centre and left were 
safely hinged upon a fortress under cover of which 
he could launch his counter-offensive with all the 
weight of his now completely mobilised reinforce- 
ments. Moreover, the army that had hurried pell- 
mell from Paris in taxicabs, in carts, in any form 
of conveyance that the authorities could lay hands 
upon, was now completely established on the left 
of the British, and if Von Kluck, lured on by the 



90 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

prize of Paris, pushed on, he would be outnumbered 
on his front and very seriously menaced on his 
right, and disaster would be certain. 

Not that the Subaltern knew or cared much for 
these things. He and his men were past caring. 
Continuous retreat had first evoked surprise, then 
resentment, then, as fatigue began to grip them 
like a vice, a kind of dull apathy. He felt he would 
not have cared whatever happened. The finer 
emotions of sorrow or hope or happiness were 
drugged to insensibility. With the exception of 
odd moments when, absolutely causelessly, wild 
anger and ungovernable rage took possession of 
him and seemed to make his blood boil and seethe, 
he seemed to be degenerating into the state of 
mind commonly attributed to the dumb beasts of 
the field — indifferent to everything in the wide 
world except food and sleep. 

That night a draft commanded by one Subaltern 
arrived to fill up the gaps. 

The next day the retreat continued. The men's 
nerves were tried to breaking-point, and a little 
detail, small and of no consequence in itself, 
opened the lock, as it were, to a perfect river of 
growing anger and discontent. 

This was how it happened. The Colonel had 
repeated the previous night the order about 
looting, and the men were under the impression 
that if any of them took so much as a green apple 
he would be liable to " death or some such less 
punishment as the Act shall provide." They talk 
about it and grumble, and then suddenly, without 



THE LAST LAP 91 

any warning except a clucking and scratching, the 
Mess Sergeant is seen by the greater part of the 
Battalion to issue triumphantly from a farm gate 
with two or three fat hens under his arms. Smiling 
broadly, totally ignorant of the enormity of his 
conduct, he deposits his load in the mess-cart 
drawn up to receive the loot ! 

The men did not let the opportunity slip by 
without giving vent to a lot of criticism. 

The Subaltern's ears tingled at the remarks that 
he heard. Never in his life had he felt so ridiculous. 

Luckily, another similar incident relieved the 
situation, shortly afterwards. During a few 
minutes' halt, a cow near the road stood gazing, 
with that apathetic interest peculiar to cows, at 
the thirsty men. It was not for nothing, as the 
French say, that one of the reservists had been a 
farm hand. He went up to the cow, unfastening 
his empty water-bottle as he went, and calmly 
leant down and began to milk the neglected animal 
until his bottle was full. It was not in itself a 
funny proceeding, but there was something about 
the calmness of both the cow and the man, and 
something about the queerness of the occasion, 
that appealed to the sense of humour of the dourest 
old Puritan of them all. They laughed, they 
roared, they shouted, in a way that reminded the 
Subaltern of the last " soccer " season. 

The noise must have mystified the pursuing 
Uhlans not a little. 

But the laugh did not last long on their lips. 
Directly afterwards they swung into a road already 



92 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

occupied by a train of refugees. After the sight 
of a good strong man struck down in his strength, 
this, perhaps, was the saddest sight of the whole 
war. How miserable they were, these helpless, 
hopeless people, trailing sadly along the road, the 
majority with all they had saved from the wreckage 
of their homes tied in a sheet, and carried on their 
backs. Some were leading a cow, others riding a 
horse, a few were in oxen-driven wagons. They 
looked as if they had lost faith in everything, even 
in God. They had the air of people calmly trying 
to realise the magnitude of the calamity which had 
befallen them, and failing. 

Here and there the Subaltern thought he saw a 
gleam of reproach in their faces. It hurt him not 
a little. Only a few days ago the British had 
been advancing, as they thought, to certain victory. 
All had been sunshine, or at any rate hope. How 
the villagers had shouted and cheered them ! 
How the women had wept with sheer joy, and shy 
young girls had thrust flowers into their button- 
holes ! What heroes they had felt swinging 
forward to meet the enemy, to defend the homes 
of their friends and Allies, and avenge their 
wrongs ! 

The role had been melodramatic, superb ! But 
here they were, skirting the very gates of Paris, 
apparently fleeing before the enemy, and this 
without having made any very determined effort 
at resistance. Poor protectors they must have 
looked ! Those simple peasants would not under- 
stand the efficacy, the necessity even, of running 



THE LAST LAP 93 

away " to live and fight another day," with a 
greater chance of success. 

The Subaltern often used to wonder what the 
poor wretches thought of troops, which, though in 
possession of arms and ammunition, still retreated — 
always retreated. They could not understand. 

The march came to an end about one o'clock. 
A halt of half-an-hour for dinner was ordered in 
the shade of some huge trees in a park. The mess- 
cart and Cookers arrived, and a meal was soon in 
progress. The Regimental Officer of what is now 
referred to as the " Old Army " was perhaps the 
best-mannered man one could possibly meet. His 
training in the Mess made him so. He was the 
sort of man who would not have done anything 
which so much as even suggested rudeness or greed. 
He was as scrupulous of his Mess Rules as a Roman 
Catholic Priest is of his conduct at High Mass. To 
the newly- joined Subaltern, Guest Night conveyed 
the holy impression of a religious rite. But here 
was a comic demonstration of the fact that the 
strictest training is only, after all, a veneer. Two 
Senior Officers were actually squabbling about a 
quarter-pound tin of marmalade ! The Subaltern 
could not help smiling. The incident merely 
showed how raw and jagged the Great Retreat had 
left the nerves of those who survived it. 

An hour's halt passed only too soon, and its 
later moments were made uneasy by the instinctive 
aversion which every one felt for the sound of the 
whistles that would mark the end of it. The 
Battalion, however, had no sooner swung into the 



94 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

road, than the Colonel, who had been reading a 
message with an expression of surprise, held up 
his hand to signal the halt. The moment was 
historic. Although none knew, it was the end of 
the Great Retreat. 



CHAPTER XVI 

THE TURN OF THE TIDE 

The next day the Battalion linked up with the 
Brigade, and instead of proceeding in the usual 
direction — southwards — they turned to the north. 

There was a great deal of subdued excitement. 
They were not going to move off for a precious 
hour or so, and, as " battle seemed imminent," 
the Subaltern did his best to make up the " de- 
ficiencies " in his equipment. 

Another Subaltern lay stricken with dysentery 
in one of the regimental wagons, and he " bor- 
rowed " his revolver and ammunition. Apart 
from the fact that the poor fellow was in too great 
pain to dispute the robbery, he declared with 
embellishments that he never wanted to see the 

thing again. " Take it, and be to it ! " 

he said. 

Curiously enough, the Subaltern was able to stick 
to the loan through all the troubles that followed, 
and was eventually able to return it to its owner, met 
casually in the London Hippodrome, months later. 

Soon afterwards, when they were marching 
through a village called Chaumes, he learnt that 
in the forthcoming battle they were to be in 

95 



96 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

General Reserve, and this relieved the nervous 
tension for the moment. There was a feeling that 
a great chance of distinguished service was lost, 
but as the General Reserves are usually flung into 
the fight towards its concluding stages, he did not 
worry on that score. 

The four Regiments of the Brigade were massed 
in very close formation in a large orchard, ready 
to move at a moment's notice. There they lay all 
day, sleeping with their rifles in their hands, or 
lying flat on their backs gazing at the intense blue 
of the sky overhead. 

The heat, although they were in the first week 
in September, was greater than ever. The blue 
atmosphere seemed to quiver with the shock of guns. 

General Headquarters had been established in 
a house near by, a middle-class, flamboyant, jerry- 
built affair. How its owner would have gasped if 
he could have seen the Field -Marshal conducting 
the British share of the great battle in his immodest 
" salle a manger ! " 

Aeroplanes were continually ascending from and 
descending to a ploughed field adjacent to the 
orchard. Motors were ceaselessly dashing up and 
down. Assuredly they were near to the heart of 
things. " 

That afternoon some one procured a page of the 
Daily Mirror, which printed the first casualty list 
of the war. Perhaps you can remember reading 
it. One was not used to the sensation. One felt 
that " it brought things home to one." Not that 
this was by any means necessary at that time 



THE TURN OF THE TIDE 97 

and place. Still it was very depressing to think 
that in God's beautiful sunlight, brave, strong 
men were being maimed and laid low for ever. 
One had a vague feeling that it was blasphemous, 
and ought to be stopped. 

It was not until dusk that a start was made, 
and the Regiment halted again about a mile further 
on and settled down for the night in a stubble 
field opposite a very imposing chateau. 

Evidently the fight had gone well, for they 
passed at least two lines of hasty trenches quite 
deserted. 

The Germans had at last been driven back ! 

Any joy that this discovery might have oc- 
casioned was sobered and tempered by the sight 
of small bodies of men bent double over their work 
in the purple twilight. They were burying-parties. 
Two twigs tied together and stuck in the brown 
mounds of earth was all the evidence there was of 
each little tragedy. During the retreat the Subal- 
tern had naturally had little opportunity to realise 
this most pitiable side of war, the cold Aftermath 
of Battle. 

I will tell you of the inglorious way in which 
one man spent this momentous day, the wonderful 
hours in which the tide turned, and a Continent 
was saved — in chasing chickens ! He was the 
Mess Sergeant, and it was his duty. Anyway, the 
Mess dined gloriously off the chickens he caught, 
and as a couple of hayricks had been dismantled 
and distributed, everybody spent a tolerably 
comfortable night. 



CHAPTER XVII 

THE ADVANCE BEGINS 

Although they stood to arms at the first flush 
of daylight on the following day, they did not 
march off until nearly eleven o'clock. The men 
were moved into the leafy grounds of the chateau 
to keep them out of the sun, and beyond the 
observation of hostile aircraft. 

The regimental butchers slew one or two sheep 
during the wait; but the meat subsequently 
proved to be abominably tough, and the fat col- 
lected to oil the bolts of the men's rifles only served 
to make them stiffer than ever. 

The Subaltern had entertained fond hopes that 
owing to his recent unusually long hours of sleep 
he would not be attacked by the same nauseating 
sensations of fatigue; but his hopes were vain. 
The sleep seemed to have made things worse. A 
little rest had developed an overwhelming desire 
for more, and he felt worse than ever. 

He longed as he had never longed before for 
long cool drinks and clean white sheets. He 
imagined himself at home. What would he do? 
He pictured himself in the bathroom eagerly 
peeling off his puttees as the water splashed into 

98 



THE ADVANCE BEGINS 99 

the pale blue bath. How he would wallow in it ! 
He could feel how the water would caress his body, 
tepid and soothing. 

On the table in the dining-room, green and cool 
with its view of the sombre pine wood, stood a 
long cold drink of what ? Cider, perhaps, or lime- 
juice and soda, something you could drink and 
drink and drink. Last of all — culminating pleasure 
of heaven — his red bedroom, with the sheets 
ready turned down for him, soft and white and 
alluring. That would have been heaven. 

But this heaven of his was very far away from 
the hard dusty road and the eternal poplars ! 
With a painful jolt his thoughts would return to 
the realities of life; he would feel dazed and 
annoyed, and in his heart of hearts he wanted 
to cry. 

Sir Archibald Murray passed in a car, holding 
an animated conversation with a much-beribboned 
and distinguished-looking French General. He 
looked very pleased with himself, as well he might, 
for the greatest work of his career had begun the 
day before with astounding success. 

The Subaltern must have felt very tired and dis- 
satisfied that afternoon. Having exhausted the 
painful thoughts of home, he began to tell himself 
what an awful life Active Service was. It never 
occurred to him to be thankful that a youth so 
young should have the luck to play his part in 
such tremendous events. He did not at the time 
realise that there were thousands of adventurous 



100 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

souls at home who would have given an arm to 
have been where he had been. 

He did not realise that in after days the memory 
of every weary hour of trudging, of every bullet 
that had hummed by, and of every shell that had 
burst, would be a joy for ever. The thought had 
never struck any of them, unsentimental souls ! 

At this point his memory confessedly breaks 
down. He remembers perfectly a certain " ten 
minutes' halt " spent in the shade of a sheaf of 
corn. He remembers plunging into a pine forest; 
but thenceforward there is a blank. His memory 
snaps. He cannot recollect passing through that 
wood, much less passing out of it. A link in the 
chain of his memory must have snapped. 

When next he recollects anything clearly it may 
have been that night, the next night, or the night 
after that. Anyway, it was very dark, and the 
Battalion was eventually halted in an open field. 
Somehow or other, straw was procured for the 
rest, but his own Platoon was sent forward to hold 
an outpost position along the banks of a small 
stream. 

Although in the daytime the sun shone with 
undiminished fervour, the nights were getting 
certainly far more chilly than they had been in 
August. But when one has to get up at day- 
break, having never had more than four hours 
sleep, one does not notice it much. 

During the night a fresh draft arrived. 

The next morning they very soon encountered 
an entirely new sight, a French village hastily 



THE ADVANCE BEGINS 101 

evacuated by the enemy. At least half of the 
houses had been broken into, and all the shops 
and inns. The Germans had dragged chairs and 
tables to the roadside, and they must have been 
sitting there drinking and smoking when the news 
of the British advance, and orders to retire had 
come upon them. Everything seemed to show 
that the enemy had left at the shortest notice. 
He had not had time to perpetrate any of his well- 
known barbarities on the few inhabitants who 
had remained in their houses, and no attempt had 
apparently been made even to burn the village ! 

A little further on, the abstemious Hun had 
obviously made a halt. The litter of bottles was 
appalling. There was a perfect wall of them for 
about a quarter of a mile. The proportion of 
bottles to the number of men estimated to occupy 
four hundred yards (1000) was alarming. There 
must have been enough drink to upset a British 
Army Corps. Most certainly the Germans in 
front must have been out of hand, and very drunk. 
The men were vastly amused. 

The day dragged on very wearily, and no de- 
ployment was made. Apparently the enemy had 
taken about as much as he could comfortably 
endure on the previous two days. He was not 
waiting to be pushed back ; he was speeding north- 
east as fast as his legs could carry him. 

In the afternoon a heavy shower rather damped 
the excitement evoked by the enemy's dramatic 
failure to hold his own. Sounds of a fierce en- 
counter were heard in front, and the Brigade was 



102 « CONTEMPTIBLE ' ' 

hurried down a steep and wooded decline to the 
scene of action. They arrived too late to share 
in the actual infliction of defeat upon the enemy, 
but they were immediately sent in pursuit, as the 
other Brigade was very tired and rather shaken. 

A man told the Subaltern that some unfortun- 
ate company, marching in fours up a village street, 
had been fired upon by a machine-gun controlled 
by a few men left behind by the enemy to inflict 
the greatest possible damage before discovery and 
capture. They had done their work well, for, 
concealed in the roof of a house, they had swept 
the street at point-blank range and literally mown 
down a whole company before they had been 
located, and " put out of action." Still they 
must have been brave men, for the personal result 
of such an exploit is certain death. 

The state of that street had better not be de- 
scribed. The Aftermath of Battle ! It is de- 
pressing, cold and passionless, dirty and bloody; 
the electricity of life has gone from the air, and 
the wine of life-blood is spilt, it seems, so need- 
lessly upon the ground. Perhaps the spirits of 
the dead linger over it. Their presence is in- 
stinctively felt. As, overpowered with the sorrow 
of it, you pass by, the thought steals into your 
mind, " When will my turn come? " This After- 
math of Battle is assuredly the most awful thing 
in war. 

As soon as the men began to scale the steep 
incline opposite, they saw that the costs had not 
been paid by the British alone. Figures, covered 



THE ADVANCE BEGINS 103 

in most cases by their own grey overcoats, lay 
out upon the ground. Leaning up against a wall 
a body was still lolling. It was a sight that no 
one who saw it will ever forget. There was no 
head; it had been shorn off as cleanly as if the 
man had been guillotined. An unburst shell had 
probably swept the man's head from his shoulders 
as he looked over the wall, and the aimless-looking 
trunk was still leaning against the wall as if 
" waiting for further orders." 

The pursuit was continued until it was quite 
dark. The Companies wheeled into the fields, 
and slept where they stood. The Colonel de- 
livered a short address, which showed that all was 
not as well as it looked. But what really did 
worry them was lack of straw. The Colonel was 
of the opinion that the enemy would take his 
stand on the opposite bank of the Marne, which, 
he told them, was only half a mile ahead. To- 
morrow there would be a fight, the like of which 
neither they nor any one else had seen before. 

They were disturbed that night, not indeed by 
the fear of what to-morrow might hold in store, 
but by a small stampede of escaped horses, who 
careered madly over the sleeping lines, injuring 
one man very severely. 



CHAPTER XVIII 

THE CROSSING OF THE MARNE 

As soon as dawn broke — a dawn exceptionally 
cold and cheerless — the cavalry pushed forward 
to effect some sort of reconnaissance. Meanwhile 
the infantry had nothing better to do than to 
conceal themselves behind the copses that covered 
the slope, and await their turn. In about an 
hour's time they were deployed and moved 
cautiously forward to the attack, the Batteries 
being already placed in readiness for the beginning 
of the " show." 

No army in the world can execute this move- 
ment as scientifically or as safely as the British 
Army. Memories of South Africa and Indian 
frontier fights have left us undoubtedly the finest 
scouting army in Europe. We were, of course, 
hopelessly outmatched in artillery and numbers. 
But artillery being equal, there was not a Brigade 
in any army in the world that could have held its 
own against a British Brigade. That, however, 
is by the way. 

They pressed steadily forward, and, having 
breasted the slope, the valley of the Marne burst 
suddenly upon their view. It was at least three 

104 



THE CROSSING OF THE MARNE 105 

miles in breadth, and the opposite heights were 
screened by woods. A small town marked the 
bridge. The country was " open " — painfully 
open; there was not an atom of real cover be- 
tween them and the heights opposite. 

But no shells came whistling towards them. 
No doubt the enemy was holding his fire until 
they were within closer range. (Not a pleasant 
thought, this, by any means.) But no, they 
went on scrambling down the deep slope, and 
still no sound of firing disturbed the morning 
silence. As each moment fled by the Subaltern 
thought to himself, " Not yet ! Well, the next 
minute will bring things about our heads ! " But 
the next minute kept on passing as uneventfully 
as its predecessors. 

At last they reached the bridge and found it 
absolutely undamaged. Even then the Subaltern 
could not repress the thought that all this was 
only a trick, and that they were being lured on to 
destruction. But his sanguinary forebodings were 
not justified, and the opposite heights were scaled 
without opposition. 

He afterwards learnt, that, however much the 
Germans might have wanted to hold this mag- 
nificent line, the strategical situation had become 
so pressing that on this sector nothing could save 
them from disaster except a complete and hurried 
retreat. They were all but outflanked on their 
right, which was already very seriously bent back ; 
while in the centre General Foch had driven in a 
wedge which bade fair to crumple up the whole line. 



106 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

There was nothing in any way remarkable about 
the little town on the other side of the river. It 
had the air of a neglected gutter-child, dirty and 
disconsolate. There were the usual signs of 
German occupation — broken windows, ravaged 
shops, and, of course, the inevitable bottles. 

Here it was that the Subaltern noticed for the 
first time that the Huns had a distinctive smell 
of their own. It was a curious smell, completely 
baffling description. If it is true that certain 
odours suggest certain colours, one would have 
described this as a brown smell, preferably a 
reddish-brown smell. Certain it was that the 
enemy left it behind him wherever he had been, 
as sure a clue to his passing as broken wine-bottles ! 

The Subaltern always associates the climbing of 
the opposite slope with pangs of a thirst so intense 
that he almost forgot to wonder why the Germans 
had evacuated so excellent a position without 
firing a single shot. But Headquarters were 
evidently not going to allow them to push for- 
ward into some previously arranged trap. Having 
by three o'clock in the afternoon firmly established 
themselves on the wooded crests of the slope, they 
were " pulled up " while a further reconnaissance 
was being made. Meanwhile, a sort of outpost 
position was taken up. 

The Subaltern's Platoon was to guard the back 
edge of a wood, and as he established his supports 
in a farm, most of his men were able to filLtheir 
water-bottles, have a wash and brush up, and 
generally prepare themselves for whatever the 



THE CROSSING OF THE MARNE 107 

next move might be. The farmer and his wife, 
who had remained in their home, did everything 
that was required of them; but he could not help 
noticing that the old couple did not seem as pleased 
at their Allies' success as one would have naturally 
expected. The reason was soon forthcoming. 
Following his usual plan of getting as much in- 
formation as possible out of the French, he heard 
the old man, who seemed unaccountably shy and 
diffident, mutter casually — 

" J'ai pense que vous etiez tous partis hier 
soir." 

"Comment?" said he, "tous partis? Mais, 
Monsieur, nous sommes les premiers Anglais qui 
sont arrives ici." 

" Mais, Monsieur ! Anglais? Ce n'est pas pos- 
sible ! " 

" C'est vrai, assurement." 

" Mais, L'Armee Anglaise porte tou jours les 
habits rouges ! " 

The Subaltern laughed outright. This simple 
fellow actually believed that the English fought 
in scarlet. Even now he was not thoroughly con- 
vinced that they really were English. Ignorance 
goes hand in hand with obstinacy, and these simple 
old peasant folk defended their stupidity with a 
veritable wall of impenetrable incredulity. 

The Subaltern was still laboriously engaged in 
explaining matters to the man, when part of the 
Headquarter' s Staff trotted up the road with a 
clatter and a swing and scurry that looked as if 
they were wanted very urgently on the left. It 



108 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

was the first time during the campaign that he 
had seen the Corps Commander and the Chief of 
the General Staff on horseback. 

It must have been about five o'clock when he 
received a message to concentrate on the main 
road. On the way he was accosted by a woman 
perfectly distraught with grief, who explained that 
two days ago her little son had disappeared into 
" ce bois la " never to come out again. 

" Si votre fils vive encore, il reviendra, bien sur, 
Madame. S'il est mort, moi, je ne peux pas vous 
aider." Terrible to relate, the sight of such grief 
annoyed rather than saddened him. 

The advance was continued until it was quite 
dark, when the Battalion denuded the usual hay- 
rick, and " dossed down " in the usual stubble 
field. 



CHAPTER XIX 

AN ADVANCED-GUARD ACTION 

At about eleven o'clock the next morning his 
Company Commander — the Captain was leading as 
the Major was now second in command of the 
Battalion — told the Subaltern to ride back to the 
transport wagons and get some fresh maps and 
some chocolate which he had left in one of the 
carts. It was pleasant to get a ride, and to rest 
one's feet for awhile, so he took his time in getting 
back to the transport. 

No sooner had he reached the wagons than a 
gun boomed. He thought nothing of that, how- 
ever. Guns were always going off, at the oddest 
times, and without any apparent reason. Four 
seconds later another rolled out, followed closely 
by a third, fourth and fifth. Soon a regular 
cannonade broke out. There was obviously mis- 
chief in the air, so he crammed the maps hastily 
into his haversack and the chocolate into his 
pocket and regained the Battalion as soon as he 
could on the exhausted animal. Even as he was 
pressing forward, he heard the crackle of musketry 
somewhere out of sight on the left. 

Of course, the very thing that he had feared had 
109 



110 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

happened. His Company had been rapidly de- 
ployed and had already disappeared over the crest. 
He explained matters to the Major who was in 
command of the remainder during the Colonel's 
absence; dismounted, and set off on foot towards 
the sounds of the firing. He ran against the 
Company Sergeant-Major in charge of the ammuni- 
tion, who told him where his Platoon was. 

The next thing was to cross the fire-swept crest. 
Now, crossing fire-swept crests is manifestly un- 
pleasant — especially if you are alone. If you are 
leading fifty men at least one and half times as 
old as you are, who look to you for guidance and 
control, it is not so bad. Bravery is very closely 
allied to " conspicuous gallantry," and " con- 
spicuous gallantry " in the field is almost impossible 
when there is no one to look on. But he was too 
tired to worry much whether he was hit or not, 
and his Platoon had to be reached as soon as 
possible. 

He found them lined up behind a small bank, 
waiting for orders to reinforce the first line. Tak- 
ing his glasses out of their case, he crawled forward 
to have a look at the position for himself. The 
Platoon in front was established behind a mud 
bank, firing occasional shots at the enemy, who 
appeared to have dug himself in behind a railway 
cutting at least five hundred yards distant. Al- 
though bullets were humming pretty thickly 
through the air, the casualties on the British side 
so far were only two or three men slightly wounded. 
They had orders to " hang on " to that position 



AN ADVANCED-GUARD ACTION 111 

until the centre and right should be sufficiently 
strengthened for the main attack to materialise, 
when they were to push on as best they might. 
Having learnt this, the Subaltern crawled back, 
and sent out three men " to establish touch " with 
the front Platoon. 

An hour passed before anything further hap- 
pened. During that time the Platoon Sergeant 
told him of the great difficulty they had had in 
reaching this advanced position at all, as they had 
been shelled from the front by the enemy, and 
from the left by their own batteries. Accidents 
such as this often happened, and the artillery 
were not really as culpable as would at first sight 
appear. Advanced-guard actions materialised so 
suddenly, and situations changed so quickly, that 
it was not always possible to circulate precise 
orders. The gunners' ideas of the relative posi- 
tions seemed to be, during the opening stages of 
the attack, rather hazy — a fact that was very 
much resented by the men. " We ain't come out 
'ere to be targets to them ruddy gunners," one 
fellow grumbled. 

Soon, however, things straightened out, and in 
an hour's time the various movements preparatory 
to the attack had been completed. The enemy, 
seeing that he was almost surrounded, and that 
it would be impossible to extricate the greater 
part of his command from the battle, resolved at 
least to save his guns, which were accordingly 
withdrawn. 

When at length the Subaltern's Platoon pushed 



112 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

forward in the wake of the leading Platoon, no less 
a personage appeared unaccountably on the scene 
than the Colonel. He had thrown off the worried 
look that had been growing on him of late. Some 
of the officers, too junior to understand how uneasy 
lies the head that is crowned with the responsibility 
for many lives, had been heard to say that the 
Colonel's manner and general outlook upon the 
campaign was tinged with unnecessary anxiety, 
and that he had no right to allow the Germans to 
disturb his peace of mind. If this were so, the 
presence of actual and tangible danger completely 
obliterated all traces of nerves. He stood up in 
the firing-line. He drew himself up to the full of 
his height, and seemed to inhale with pleasure the 
dangerous air. All the time bullets were humming 
overhead like swift and malignant insects, or 
striking the ground with a spatter of brown earth. 

The Adjutant, following him, suddenly bent 
double as if he had been struck below the belt; 
but the Colonel merely straightened himself, and 
not a nerve in his phlegmatic face twitched. 

" What's the matter? " asked the Colonel. 

" Only a bullet struck my revolver hilt, sir," 
replied the Adjutant. It had splintered the wood- 
work and been deflected between his arm and 
ribs. 

Near by a man rose on his knees to get a better 
shot at the enemy. 

" What's that man doing? Get down there this 
moment 1 " roared the Colonel. 

Then, as he recognised an old soldier of the 



AN ADVANCED-GUARD ACTION 118 

regiment, " Atkins, how dare you expose yourself 
unnecessarily ? Your wife used to do my washing 
in Tidshot. Me ? Oh, I'm only an old bachelor. 
It doesn't matter about me. There's nobody to 
care what happens to me." And, well pleased 
with his joke, the Colonel passed down the line, 
proud of his magnificent bravery. 

There is something about the rough-and-tumble 
of battle that lifts one above one's self. One's 
legs and arms are not the same listless limbs that 
were crying for rest only a short hour ago. One 
is envigoured ; the excitement stimulates. One 
feels great, magnanimous, superb. The difficulty 
lies not in forcing oneself to be brave, but in 
curbing ridiculous impulses, and in forcing the 
brain to work slowly and smoothly. The smallest 
natures rise to great heights. An ordinary self- 
centred creature performs acts of dazzling gene- 
rosity towards fellows he does not even know — 
with everything to lose and nothing to gain. He 
will rescue a wounded man under heavy fire, to 
whom an hour previously he would have refused 
to lend sixpence. 

Why is it ? 

If the enemy were a roaring brazen beast, such 
as the knights of the fairy tales used to fight, one 
could understand it. But he is not. You cannot 
even see him. Three-quarters of a mile ahead 
there is a dark brown line, and that is all. Whence 
comes the love of battle ? Is it roused by the 
little messengers of death that whizz invisibly by ? 
No one can say ; the whole feeling is most probably 
i 



114 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

the result of imagination and desire to do great 
things. 

On they swept. The leading Platoon was now 
covering the ground at such a pace that it was 
impossible to catch up with them. As the ground 
was open the whole line could be seen sweeping 
forward to engulf the enemy. The long dotted 
lines of brown advanced steadily and inexorably. 
Line upon line of them breasted the crest, and 
followed in the wake of the leading wave. It was 
scarcely a spectacular sight, yet it was the vindica- 
tion of the British methods of attack. 

The wild firing of the Germans had little effect. 
Curiously enough, the line that suffered least was 
the first, and even in the others the casualties were 
negligible. And all the time they were nearing the 
railway bank. 

But the end was in sight, and the enemy realised 
that further resistance would be useless. They 
were caught. About half a dozen men sprang on 
to the railway bank and began furiously to wag 
white sheets of paper or rag — anything white. 
They must have been brave men to do such a 
thing. The British gunners either did not see 
their signs, or perhaps refused to accept them on 
account of various " jokes " that the enemy had 
at other times played with the white flag. Any- 
way the firing continued with unabated fury. 
They stood there to the end without flinching, 
and when they fell other men took their places. 
It is mean and untruthful to say that the Germans 
are cowards. Certain it was that their pathetic 



AN ADVANCED-GUARD ACTION 115 

bravery — there is always something sad about 
bravery — so touched the British that they accepted 
the surrender without reserve or suspicion. Even 
the artillery ceased fire. 

At this point the leading Platoon broke clean 
away. They could not be held in. The orderly 
advance degenerated into a wild dash. Men bent 
double and rushed. Determination was written 
on each flushed face. The Germans must have 
been terrified; it looked as if they were to be 
bayoneted as they stood, with their arms raised 
in surrender. It must have been a very trying 
moment for them, indeed, as the British raced 
towards them up the incline. The leading men 
were soon clambering up the embankment. What 
would happen? Was a disgraceful and bloody 
massacre about to begin? The excitement was 
intense. The Subaltern ran on harder than ever, 
with some vague idea of " stopping a scene," but 
he need not have bothered. The men were not 
out for blood or scalps. All they wanted was 
souvenirs or helmets ! They got them with such 
success that there was little left for the other 
platoons. 

When the Subaltern came up the " show " was 
over. There were a great many dead Germans 
lying, as they had died, behind the embankment. 
The thought of taking something which they had 
worn never occurred to him. If it had been he 
would have dismissed it on the grounds that there 
was no means of sending such things home, while 
to add to the weight and worry of his kit by carry- 



116 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

ing a " Pickelhaube " about, indefinitely, for the 
rest of the campaign, was, of course, unthinkable. 

Then the " rally " sounded, and the companies 
that had taken part in the attack began to re-form. 
There was a considerable delay before two of the 
platoons appeared at the rallying point. The men 
did not come in a body but by driblets. He began 
to get nervous about the other two Subalterns, 
and in a few minutes went to see what had hap- 
pened to them. 

" Lord bless you, sir, Vs all right," said a man 
in answer to the Subaltern's inquiry. " We 
wouldn't let no harm come to 'im." The man 
who spoke was an old soldier whom he knew well, 
tall, wiry, commanding — the sort of man that a 
young officer leans upon, and who, reciprocally, 
relies on his officer. In the old Peace days, if any 
special job that required intelligence or reliance 
were going, he always saw that this man got it. 
He had made a sort of pet of him; and now he 
was openly, frankly displaying a state of mind 
akin to worship towards another officer. It was 
defection, rank desertion. A ridiculous feeling of 
jealousy surged up in the Subaltern's mind, as he 
turned back towards the Company. 

As he regained the road, many stretchers passed. 
They were no longer things of tragedy, to be 
passed by with a shudder and averted eyes — he 
was getting used to horror. 



CHAPTER XX 

DEFENCE 

It was now midday, and the Officers of the two 
companies that had been deployed gathered round 
the mess-cart. The remaining companies, who 
had been kept in local reserve during the fight, 
were sent out to bury the dead. The rain began 
to fall in torrents, and somehow the memory of 
crouching under the mess-cart to get shelter has 
left a far more definite and indelible impression 
upon the Subaltern's mind than the actual moments 
of danger and excitement. 

A large band of prisoners had been captured by 
our troops that day. Small detachments had from 
time to time been captured ever since the turn at 
Chaumes, but this was different. There were long 
lines of them, standing bolt upright, and weapon- 
less. The Subaltern looked at them curiously. 
They struck him as on the whole taller than the 
English, and their faces were not brown, but grey. 
He admired their coats, there was a martial air 
in the long sweep of them. And he confessed that 
one looked far more of a soldier in a helmet. There 
is a ferocity about the things, a grimness well suited 
to a soldier. . . . Not that clothes make the man. 

117 



118 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

He sternly refused himself the pleasure of going 
to get a closer sight of them. He wanted very 
badly to see them, perhaps to talk French with 
them, but a feeling that it was perhaps infra 
dignitatem debarred him. The men, however, 
had no such scruples. They crowded round their 
captives, and slowly and silently surveyed them. 
They looked at them with the same sort of interest 
that one displays towards an animal in the Zoo, 
and the Germans paid just as much attention to 
their regard as Zoo animals do. Considering that 
only a short hour ago they had been trying to take 
each other's lives, there seemed to be an appalling 
lack of emotion in either party. Fully half an 
hour the Tommies inspected them thus. Then, 
with infinite deliberation, one man produced a 
packet of " Caporal " cigarettes and offered one, 
with an impassive countenance, to a German. As 
far as the Subaltern could see, not a single word 
was exchanged nor a gesture made. They did 
not move away until it was time to fall in. 

The advance was continued until it was dark, 
and intermittent firing was heard throughout the 
afternoon on either flank. The German retreat, 
which had in its first stages been conducted with 
such masterly skill, was rapidly developing into 
a hurried and ill-conducted movement, that bade 
fair to lead to disaster. Reports of large quan- 
tities of prisoners were coming in more frequently 
than ever. 

It was at this time that the Subaltern first heard 
the now notorious story of the German who had 



DEFENCE 119 

been at the Savoy, and who gave himself up to 
the Officer whom he recognised as an old habitue. 
One of the Officers in the Regiment said that this 
had happened to him, and was believed — for the 
moment. Later on, Officers out of every corps 
solemnly related similar experiences, with occa- 
sional variations in the name of the hotel. Usually 
it was the Savoy or the Ritz ; less often the Carlton, 
or even the Cecil, but the " Pic " or the " Troc " 
were absolutely barred. The story multiplied so 
exceedingly that one began to suspect that the 
entire German corps in front was exclusively 
composed of ex- waiters of smart London hotels. 

Another sign that the Germans were beginning 
to be thrust back more quickly than they liked 
was the frequent abandonment of transport. 
Whole trains of motor lorries that had been hastily 
burned and left by the roadside, and all sorts of 
vehicles with broken wheels, were constantly 
being passed. The Subaltern remembers seeing a 
governess cart, and wondering what use the Ger- 
mans had found for it. Perhaps a German colonel 
had been driven gravely in it, at the head of his men. 
He wondered whether the solemn Huns would have 
been capable of seeing the humour of such a 
situation. 

Horses, too, seemed to have been slaughtered 
by the score. They looked like toy horses, nursery 
things of wood. Their faces were so unreal, their 
expressions so glassy. They lay in such odd pos- 
tures, with their hoofs sticking so stiffly in the air. 
It seemed as if they were toys, and were lying just 



120 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

as children had upset them. Even their dimen- 
sions seemed absurd. Their bodies had swollen 
to tremendous sizes, destroying the symmetry of 
life, confirming the illusion of unreality. 

The sight of these carcases burning in the sun, 
with buzzing myriads of flies scintillating duskily 
over their unshod hides, excited a pity that was 
almost as deep as his pity for slain human beings. 
After all, men came to the war with few illusions, 
and a very complete knowledge of the price to be 
paid. They knew why they were there, what they 
were doing, and what they might expect. They 
could be buoyed up by victory, downcast by defeat. 
Above all, they had a Cause, something to fight 
for, and if Fate should so decree, something to 
die for. But these horses were different; they 
could neither know nor understand these things. 
Poor, dumb animals, a few weeks ago they had 
been drawing their carts, eating their oats, and 
grazing contentedly in their fields. And then 
suddenly they were seized by masters they did not 
know, raced away to places foreign to them, made 
to draw loads too great for them, tended irregu- 
larly, or not at all, and when their strength failed, 
and they could no longer do their work, a bullet 
through the brain ended their misery. Their lot 
was almost worse than the soldiers' ! 

To the Subaltern it seemed an added indictment 
of war that these wretched animals should be 
flung into that vortex of slaughter. He pitied 
them intensely, the sight of them hurt him; and 
the smell of them nauseated him. Every memory 



DEFENCE 121 

of the whole advance is saturated with that odour. 
It was pungent, vigorous, demoralising. It filled 
the air, and one's lungs shrank before it. Once, 
when a man drove his pick through the crisp, 
inflated side, a gas spurted out that was positively 
asphyxiating and intolerable. 

However much transport the Germans aban- 
doned, however severe the losses they sustained, 
they always found time to break open every 
estaminet they passed, and drain it dry. Wretched 
inns and broken bottles proved to be just as reliable 
a clue to their passing as the smell of them. 



CHAPTER XXI 

THE DEFENCE OF THE BRANDY 

The next morning two companies were de- 
tached from the Battalion as escort to a brigade 
of artillery. The other two companies, who had 
returned during the night, did not seem to be 
greatly upset by their gruesome task of burying 
the dead. 

They did not come in contact with the enemy, 
and no outstanding incident impressed itself upon 
the Subaltern's mind. The heat had abated with 
dramatic swiftness. A wind that was almost 
chilly swept the plains, driving grey clouds con- 
tinually across the sun. The summer was over. 
That day they joined battle with the outposts of 
a foe that was to prove more hateful and persistent 
than the German winter. 

The name of a village known as Suchy-le- 
Chateau figured on many of the signposts that 
they passed, but they never arrived there, and, 
branching off east of Braisne, they came upon the 
remainder of the Battalion, drawn up in a stubble 
field. 

A driving rain had begun to fall early in the 
afternoon, and when at length the march was 

122 



THE DEFENCE OF THE BRANDY 123 

finished their condition was deplorable. Though 
tired out with a long day's march, they dared not 
rest, because to lie down in the sodden straw was 
to court sickness. Their boots, worn and unsoled, 
offered no resistance whatever to the damp. Very 
soon they could hear their sodden socks squelching 
with water as they walked. A night of veritable 
horror lay in front of them; they were appalled 
with the prospect of it. The rain seemed to mock 
at the completeness of their misery. 

However, the Fates were kind, for the General, 
happening to pass, took pity on them and allowed 
them to be billeted in the outhouses of a farm near 
by. The sense of relief which this move gave to 
the Subaltern was too huge to describe. Con- 
tentment took possession of him utterly. The 
tension of his nerves and muscles relaxed : he 
thought that the worries and hardships of that 
day, at least, were over. 

But he was wrong. 

No sooner had his Platoon wearily thrown their 
rifles and equipment into the musty barn that was 
allotted to them, than the Colonel told him that he 
would have to sleep with his men, the reason being 
that the owner of the farm, on the approach of the 
Germans, had hidden a large stock of brandy 
beneath the straw in the very barn that his men 
had entered. The farmer had asked the Colonel 
to save his liquor from the troops, and the Colonel, 
with horrible visions of a regiment unmanageable 
and madly intoxicated before his eyes, replied that 
most assuredly he would see that the men did not 



124 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

get hold of the brandy. The Subaltern told his 
sergeant, but otherwise the proximity of bliss was 
kept a strict secret from the men. 

Throughout the whole of that long day the 
Subaltern had been looking forward to, longing for, 
and idealising the rest which was to follow after 
the labours of the day. And now that it had at 
last been achieved, it proved to be a very poor 
imitation of the ideal rest and slumber that he had 
been yearning for. To begin with, the delays 
before quarters were settled upon were intermin- 
able. And then this news about the brandy. The 
evening meal was delayed almost a couple of hours, 
and every minute of the delay annoyed him, be- 
cause it was so much precious time for sleep lost. 
Even when the meal arrived, it proved to be in- 
sufficient, and he was still hungry, cold and damp, 
when at last he hobbled across the yard to the barn. 

The place had no ventilation. The air was foul 
with the smell of damp grain, and men, and wet 
boots. He hesitated at the door ; he would rather 
have slept in the open air, but the yard was inches 
deep in mud and manure. He groped forward, 
and at every inch that he penetrated further into 
the place, the air seemed to become thicker, more 
humid, more foul. In the thick darkness his foot 
stumbled on the sleeping form of a man, who rolled 
over and swore drowsily. At last, after intermin- 
able feeling in the darkness, and balancing himself 
on sacks of grain, he attained the corner where the 
bottles lay buried, and threw himself down to 
sleep. 



THE DEFENCE OF THE BRANDY 125 

But sleep was impossible. In spite of the in- 
supportable atmosphere he remained cold. Every 
second some one was moving ! One instant a man 
would shuffle and cough in one corner, then some 
one would grunt and groan as he turned restlessly 
in his sleep, and the happier few who had achieved 
slumber would snore laboriously. Now and then 
a man would rise shakily to his feet and thread 
his way unsteadily to the door, kicking up against 
recumbent forms as he went, and evoking language 
as murky as the atmosphere. The Subaltern felt 
a savage joy in the recriminations and expletives 
that filled the air. Like lightning, they relieved 
the thunder-pressure of the air. 



CHAPTER XXII 

STRATEGY AS YOU LIKE IT 

Dawn found them already paraded in the farm- 
yard, shivering, and not much better rested than 
when they had entered the barn of dreadful memory 
the night before. Each day the accumulation 
of fatigue and nerve-strain became greater; each 
day it grew harder to drag the weary body to its 
feet, and trudge onwards. Though the tide of 
victory had turned, though every yard they 
covered was precious ground re-won, they longed 
very intensely for a lull. The Subaltern felt in a 
dim way that the point beyond which flesh and 
blood could not endure was not very far ahead. 
As it was, he marvelled at himself. 

During the course of the morning the Captain 
returned to the Company, with a little map, and 
a great deal of information concerning the strategy 
of the war, about which everybody knew so little. 

To begin at the beginning, he said that the 
Allies had begun the campaign under two great 
disadvantages. The first was their very serious 
numerical inferiority in forces that could be imme- 
diately used. If numbers alone counted, the 
Germans were bound to win until the French were 
fully mobilised. 

126 



STRATEGY AS YOU LIKE IT 127 

The other disadvantage was the preconceived 
notion that the German Government would keep 
its word with regard to the violation of Belgian 
neutrality. If this had been observed, it would 
have been almost a strategical impossibility to 
turn the Allied left flank. The attack in force 
was expected to be made in the Lorraine area. 
Consequently, when it became evident that the 
main German effort was to be launched through 
Belgium, all pre-conceived plans of French con- 
centration had either to be abandoned, or, at any 
rate, greatly modified in order to meet the enemy 
offensive from an unexpected quarter. 

After their unexpected set-back at Liege, the 
invaders met with little resistance from the Belgian 
army, which was, of course, hopelessly out- 
numbered, and their armies were rapidly forming 
up on a line north of the Sambre, which roughly 
extended south-east by east to north-west by west. 
Meanwhile, the initial French offensive which had 
been launched in the region of the Vosges had 
resulted in the temporary capture of Miilhouse, 
and had then been abandoned in order to face the 
threatening disaster from the north. 

It was thought advisable to wait until the 
concentration of the English Army was completed, 
then, to comply with an obvious rule of strategy 
which says, " Always close with your enemy when 
and wherever he shows himself, in order to discover 
and hold him to his dispositions," a general advance 
was made along the whole centre and left of the 
Allied line. The line swung forward, and perhaps 



128 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

some day one of the handful of men who know will 
tell exactly what was the object of this movement. 
Was it meant to join battle in all seriousness with 
the enemy, and to drive him from Belgium, or was 
it just a precautionary measure to hold and delay 
him? Probably the latter. The Allied General- 
issimo had probably made up his mind to the fact 
that the first battle — the battle in Belgium — was 
already lost by the Allies' lateness in concentra- 
tion. Regarded in this light the battle in Belgium 
was undoubtedly the greatest rear-guard action 
in History. 

On account of a possible under-estimation of 
the enemy's strength, and of the completeness of 
his dispositions, the Allies found themselves, when 
the lines first clashed, in a more serious position 
than they probably anticipated. The enemy gained 
two initial successes that decided, past doubt, the 
fate of the battle which was now raging along the 
whole front from Mons to Mtilhouse. Namur, 
the fortress which had enjoyed a reputation as the 
Port Arthur of Europe, fell before the weight of 
the German siege howitzer in a few days. The 
magnitude of the disaster appalled the whole world, 
for indirectly the piercing of these forts laid open 
the road to Paris. Nor was this all. The enemy 
forced the passage of the Sambre at Charleroi, and 
threatened to cut the Allied centre from the left. 
The British Army, on the extreme left, found itself 
confronted by a numerical superiority of nearly 
three to one, while its left flank and lines of com- 
munication with Havre were seriouslv menaced 



STRATEGY AS YOU LIKE IT 129 

by a huge body of Uhlan cavalry. In a word, the 
positions taken up by the whole of the Allied centre 
and left were no longer tenable. To hang on would 
have been to court disaster. There was nothing 
for it but to cut and go. 

But the Allies did not meet with the same ill 
luck along the whole line. The small successes 
gained on the right, in Alsace, had apparently 
been consolidated. The German tide through 
Luxembourg was stemmed, and, even though the 
Kaiser himself witnessed its bombardment, Nancy 
held out. But the trump card in the Allies' hand 
was Verdun. De Castlenau clung resolutely to the 
chain of forts crowning the heights in front of the 
town, and his successful defence saved Paris. 
Whatever might happen to the centre and left, the 
right, at any rate, seemed safe. 

The Allied Generalissimo was forced to give 
way before the fury of the German onslaught in 
Belgium. He withdrew his armies while there 
was yet time, thus averting irrevocable disaster. 
According to all the rules of the game, he should 
have retired his whole line southwards, in order 
to ensure the safety of Paris. But he did not 
throw his highest trump : he clung to Verdun, and 
left Paris exposed. His armies retreated, not on 
the Capital, but in a sweeping movement that was 
hinged upon Verdun. He realised that the fate of 
Paris depended not upon its being covered by the 
Allies, but upon the fate of the second great battle 
of the war. 

Meanwhile, the great retreat — this hinging move- 

K 



130 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

ment — continued, very slowly near Verdun, very, 
very swiftly on the left. Days passed ; no attempt 
was made to check the enemy's advance, and the 
passing of each day left Paris more exposed. The 
world gasped at the breathless swiftness with which 
disaster seemed to be swooping down upon the 
Capital. But every day de Castlenau was con- 
solidating his defence of Verdun, in face of tre- 
mendous odds ; and every day the ferocity of the 
German onrush waned. The line continued to 
swing resolutely back, until such time as a com- 
pleted mobilisation should allow the Allies to turn 
upon the enemy in greater force, in their own time, 
and on chosen ground. A premature effort would 
have spoiled all. They had to wait for their 
chance. 

Meanwhile, rapid concentrations of reserves were 
taking place behind the line, the most famous 
instance of which was the Reserve Army moved 
out of Paris by General Gallieni in taxis, fiacres, 
and any vehicle the authorities could commandeer 
to ensure that the Army should be in its place in 
time. It was in its place. Just as the world was 
beginning to say that the war was over, General 
Joffre decided that the iron was hot, that the time 
to strike had arrived. " The moment has come," 
he wrote, " to die where you stand, rather than 
give way." 

The outlook changed from black to rose with the 
completeness and ease of a pantomime transforma- 
tion scene. The Verdun heights remained im- 
pregnable. The whole line turned and fought where 



STRATEGY AS YOU LIKE IT 131 

it stood. The enemy, worn out by his exertions, 
stretched his line of communications to breaking- 
point, and it was said that his supplies of food and 
munitions had come temporarily very near to 
collapse. The Allies checked him. He could not 
even hold his own. In two days he was moving 
back, away from Paris. 

The economic reasons were not the only factors 
in his downfall. He was beaten by the Allied 
morale, and also by the Allied strategy. Von 
Kluck, the Commander of the German right, 
hurrying on in an abortive pursuit of the British 
Army, found that he was outflanked by the army 
of Gallieni, which, stronger than his own, threat- 
ened his line of communications. To press on 
towards Paris would have been suicidal. To linger 
in his present position would have been to court 
capture. He, therefore, began the famous march 
across the French front, by which he hoped to 
gain touch with the army on his left, and as he 
turned, the British and French fell upon him 
simultaneously, as in a vice. For a day the line 
wavered irresolutely, then Von Kluck realised that 
the pendulum of success was beginning to swing 
the other way. He had to retire or face irretriev- 
able disaster. 

Thus Paris was saved. The tremendous blow 
aimed at it was parried, and it seemed as if the 
striker tottered, as if he had overreached his 
strength. The treachery with which the Germans 
had inaugurated the movement, the brutality and 
cruelty with which they had carried it through, 



132 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

were brought to nothing before the superior morale 
of the Allied troops, and the matchless strategy of 
their Commander. 

The enemy was checked along the whole line, 
but the Allies were not satisfied with that. The 
French flung themselves upon the invader with a 
ferocity and heroism that was positively reminiscent 
of the Napoleonic legends. General Foch, in 
command of the General Reserve, achieved the 
culminating success in this victory, known as the 
Battle of the Marne. He broke the enemy's line : 
he thrust into the gap a wedge so powerful that the 
enemy was forced to give way on either side of it, 
because his centre was broken. The victory of 
the Marne was assured. 

Slowly at first, latterly with increasing speed, 
the Allies were hurling the enemy northwards. 
He was becoming more demoralised every day. 
A victory even greater than the Marne was in 
sight. 

" And that," said the Captain, " is where we 
are at present." 

" They'll turn on us in a day or two, and then 
there'll be the devil of a fight," said the Senior 
Subaltern. 

Everybody laughed at him, but they had an 
uneasy feeling that he would be right. 



CHAPTER XXIII 

THE LAST ADVANCE 

While he was dreaming, the time slipped by 
almost unnoticed. It was not until eleven o'clock 
that a halt was made. He could just discern in the 
darkness the dim outlines of what appeared to be 
a large farm-house, surrounded by barns and out- 
houses. Some transport had got jammed in the 
yard. He could hear the creak of wheels, the 
stamping of hoofs, and shouts. There was not a 
light anywhere, and they waited for half-an-hour 
that seemed interminable, for they were drenched 
through, and tired, and were longing for any cover 
out of the wet. Sounds of shuffling were heard in 
front, and at last they found themselves on the 
move again. Another fifty yards, as far as a gate 
in a wall, and then they stuck again. More weary, 
exasperating minutes ; then at last the bedraggled 
figure of the Captain loomed out of the darkness. 

" Is that you? " he asked. 

" All right, lead round here ! " 

He led them to a large barn, and they turned in 
to sleep just as they were. No supper, not a fire 
to dry their sodden clothes, not a blanket to cover 
their chilled bodies. 

133 



134 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

As usual, they got to sleep somehow, and as 
usual dawn came about thirty hours before they 
were ready for it. 

They moved out immediately, and continued the 
course of the march. The rain-laden clouds had 
rolled completely away. The sky looked hard and 
was scarcely blue ; the country was swept by a 
strong nipping wind, for which they were very 
thankful, since it served to dry their clothes. 

The Machine-gun Officer, passing down the 
Battalion, walked with them while he told them 
two wonderful stories. It may have been crude, 
but in another way it was almost as satisfying as 
breakfast. 

He solemnly explained to them that the war was 
nearly over. The Germans, lured into making 
this tremendous and unnecessary effort to capture 
Paris, had left their eastern front dangerously 
weak. The Russians were pouring into Germany 
in their millions. The Cossacks were already 
around Posen. Nobody quite knew where Posen 
was, but it sounded deliciously like Potsdam. 
Anyway, they would be there in a month. 

A few surplus millions, who, presumably on 
account of the crush, could not burst into Germany 
by the quickest route, had been despatched, via 
Archangel, to the northern coast of Scotland. 
Their progress thenceforwards is, of course, 
notorious. By now they had safely landed at 
Antwerp, and had pursued a career that must 
have bored them as monotonously victorious. 
Namur, " and all those places " had been captured, 



THE LAST ADVANCE 135 

and at that moment Maubeuge was being relieved. 
The Germans were being sandwiched between the 
victorious Russian, French and British Arms. 
They could only escape as through the neck of a 
bottle. And the end of the war was so near, and 
so definite, that it almost lacked interest. 

The Subaltern was elated. He refused to ques- 
tion the likelihood of such tales. He was hungry 
for just such cheering stories of success. And 
when he got them, he devoured them with avidity, 
without ever looking at them. The effect on him 
was bracing. It was glorious, he told himself, 
to have taken part in such happenings. The only 
cloud on his horizon was the fact that the chance 
to do distinguished acts had never come to him. 
The Regimental Colours never required saving 
under heavy fire, for the simple reason that they 
reposed safely at the depot. Neither did the 
Colonel, a most profitable person to rescue, ever 
get wounded in the open, and give an opportunity 
for gallant rescue work. He had never had a chance 
to " stick a Bosch." He had never drawn his 
sword in a triumphant charge, never blazed his 
revolver in a face, never twisted a bayonet on a 
body. It would require courage, he told himself, 
to admit these things when he was back again at 
home. 

You must not laugh at the stories of the Machine- 
Gunner. He believed what he wanted to believe. 
Remember, too, that the Allies were then at the 
zenith of the greatest victory that was achieved in 
the first eighteen months of the war. The strategi- 



136 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

cal ideas of the Machine -Gunner may have been 
faulty, but he has saved more lives with his guns 
than any doctor in the land. 

At about eight o'clock in the morning, the 
Subaltern saw the Company in front twisting off 
the road, and forming up in " mass " in the open 
field. They were then in the centre of a large 
plateau, which offered an uninterrupted view of 
miles of flat country on every side. A rough 
" outpost " disposition, with which he was fortun- 
ately not sent, was detailed, and the news was 
spread that there was to be a halt of several hours. 

The business of drying clothes, and cleaning up, 
instantly began. Ingrained soldierly cleanliness 
of the men was displayed. Without any order, 
and in spite of their weariness, whenever they were 
halted over an hour in the daylight — which had 
very seldom happened — they would immediately 
set about shaving, and cleaning themselves and 
their rifles. They shaved with the cold water, 
poured from their water-bottles into the lids of 
their canteens. There was a vast rubbing of bolts, 
and " pulling through " of barrels. An erstwhile 
barber in the Senior Subaltern's Platoon did 
tremendous business with a pair of scissors and a 
comb, his patrons being seated on an upturned 
ammunition-case. 

They had not halted long before a " mail " 
came in. The Subaltern was not among the lucky 
few who received letters or small parcels. Not 
that he minded much. From whomever the letter 
might come, or in whatever vein it had been written, 



THE LAST ADVANCE 187 

he admitted to himself that he would feel savage 
with it, and would have dismissed it as " hot air " 
if it were sympathetic, or as " hard-hearted " if 
it were anything else. 

He wrote home on the now famous postcards 
that inform the addressee that, on such and such 
a date, the sender was alive and well. He felt 
very relieved that at last he had an opportunity to 
relieve the anxiety of the people at home. 

The best part of the two hours was spent in 
" franking " — that is censoring — his men's letters. 
It was a very unwelcome task, and although he 
thoroughly appreciated the military necessity, he 
cordially hated being forced, as it were, to pry into 
their private affairs. 

Meanwhile the wind had dried them, and the 
sun was high in the heavens. Rations arrived, 
and were distributed. The sun and the tea warmed 
them, and in the afternoon a little sleep was possible. 

The Subaltern was aroused at about four o'clock, 
and the march was continued. The Senior Subal- 
tern had received a box of Abdullas in the post, 
which he kindly shared with his two juniors. The 
cigarettes seemed enormously fat, and the tobacco 
extraordinarily pale. They had smoked nothing 
but the little " Caporal " French cigarettes — and 
not many of them — since their own supply had 
given out. They had said all along how much 
they longed for " decent English " cigarettes, and 
now they had got them they were not at all so 
sure that they liked them. 

There was a Lance -Corporal in the Company 



138 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

who was not as generous to his fellows as the Senior 
Subaltern had been. He smoked the cigarettes 
he had been sent, persistently, and with obvious 
enjoyment. The men around him were hungry 
for a " whiff " ; the sight of him calmly lighting 
a fresh " fag " at the stump of the old maddened 
them beyond endurance. At length one man could 
bear it no longer. 

" Look at 'im, a'eatin' of 'em. Lor 1 give a 
thought to yer ruddy comrades, can't yer?" 

They seemed to miss tobacco more poignantly 
than any other luxury. 

A little later, sounds of great artillery bombard- 
ments rose up in front of them and on each side, 
but they could not yet see any signs of a fight, as 
they had not yet reached the edge of the plateau. 

Further on, the road descended slightly, and a 
very little way ahead the Subaltern saw, for the first 
time, a Battery of heavy artillery at work. The 
whole affair seemed to him to be singularly peaceful. 
The men went to work in the same efficient and 
rapid way that they would have done in a machine - 
room. Their targets were, of course, invisible, 
and there was no attempt to cover the guns from 
sight, nor to protect them from hostile shells. He 
was surprised to see how comparatively slowly 
the gun recoiled after discharge. The noise was 
ear-splitting, terrific. 

" There'll be some fun when the Transport 
comes along," said the Senior Subaltern, with 
unholy glee. 

He was right : there probably would be a great 



THE LAST ADVANCE 139 

deal of " fun." The Battery was not more than 
fifty yards from the road on the left, while on 
the right there was a drop, at an angle of at least 
sixty degrees, of twenty yards. He imagined the 
frightened horses careering madly down the slope, 
the carts and wagons bumping and crashing down 
upon them — the kicking, struggling heap below ! 

Then, just as it was growing dark, they reached 
the edge of the plateau, and the huge rolling valley 
of the Aisne swam before them in the purple 
twilight. The further heights were already wrapt 
up in darkness; and the ground, glowing green 
at their feet, merged in the distance to rich velvet 
patches of purple and brown. The river itself was 
hidden by the trees clustering round its banks, but 
they could guess its course, winding away for a 
score or so of miles to the east. 

" What a beautiful scene," he said reverently. 

The Senior Subaltern may, or may not, have 
appreciated the beauty of the scene. His eye was 
on the further heights. 

" This is where they will try to stand," he said. 

And, as usual, he was right. 

They looked across to where the dark heights 
opposite were thrown out clearly against the pale 
sky, faintly yellow with the reflected glory of the 
sunset at their backs. Lights momentarily twinkled, 
now here, now there, intermittently along the 
whole line, as far as they could see. It was just 
as if matches were being struck, and instantly blown 
out again. But all the time the low, booming noise 
floated across to them. It was the German heavy 



140 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

artillery, slinging over heavier projectiles than, so 
far, it had been their bad fortune to meet. 

Just as they were entering a little village, nestling 
half-way down the slope, a tremendous explosion 
happened. There was a thunder-clap of noise, 
and a perfect cloud of earth and stones and wood 
was thrown high into the air. It was their 
introduction to the famous " Jack Johnson." 

But, " Jack Johnson " or no " Jack Johnson," 
they marched on into the village, and were allotted 
billets for the night. The men of the Company 
were very comfortably accommodated in a barn 
half filled with dry hay, which, of course, is a great 
deal more pleasant to sleep upon than straw. The 
Officers went into a little cottage by the barn, and, 
having intimated to the owner of it that they were 
willing to buy anything she could sell them to eat 
or drink, flung off their equipment and went out 
into the little farmyard. 

The air was rosy with the sunset light ; even the 
rising dust was golden. The sky overhead was 
the palest of dusky whites. It was not a sky : it 
was just Eternity. Out of it, infinitely far, yet 
comparatively close, a few stars were beginning 
to wink. 

The men in the yard were cooking their evening 
meal over a few little fires, squatting over them, 
eyeing anxiously the brewing tea or frizzling bacon. 
It was impossible to feel nervous or discontented. 
The very atmosphere was benign. It seemed as 
if " God was in His Heaven," and all was well 
with the World. 



CHAPTER XXIV 

SATURDAY NIGHT 

Every picture wakened in the mind of the 
reader by the preceding chapters should be bathed 
in the brightest of sunshine, under the bluest of 
skies, and the horizons should quiver with the 
blue heat. From now onwards he must imagine 
grey skies, often streaming rain, and always muddy 
roads and sodden grass. 

That day saw the inauguration of a new kind 
of misery for our troops. Dust, heat and thirst, 
their previous tormentors, retired in favour of 
mud, chill and an unappeasable hunger. Their 
overstrained nerves and worn bodies rendered 
them very susceptible even to the first breath of 
autumn. 

The Subaltern had lost all his underwear except 
his shirt, and part of his socks. His breeches were 
torn at the knee, and he felt the chill of the wind 
very acutely. He could feel the damp mud through 
the flapping toes of his boot. 

Then it began to rain — no mere light summer 
shower, that cooled one's face and clothes, and 
delightfully wet one's hands, but a real autumnal 
downpour. Hastily he undid the straps which 
tied his Burberry, and shuffled into it, as he 

141 



142 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

marched along. It was caked with mud, and 
smelt of the earth that he had so often grovelled 
in, but as he fastened the hooks beneath his chin, 
he felt profoundly glad of it, elated that he had 
something to keep off the chill and wet. He 
buttoned it down to his knees and experienced the 
faint sensation of comfort that one feels when 
drawing one's blinds to shut out a stormy night. 

Then the guns began to rattle by; always an 
ominous sign, for it meant that battle was immi- 
nent. It was a remarkable thing that neither 
infantry nor artillery took much notice of each 
other as they met. The guns and carriages would 
thunder and bump and clatter over the pave, the 
thickset horses straining at their harness, the 
drivers urging them on. But the infantry would 
plod along just the same, regardless of the noise 
and bustle. The men would not even raise their 
eyes from the boots of the preceding four. 

Very soon after the last gun-carriage had rattled 
past, sounds of a bombardment would be heard — 
the bangs and whizz of shells. The Column would 
probably be halted, while a reconnaissance was 
made to ascertain in what force the enemy was 
holding his position. As a rule, deployments were 
not necessary, for the artillery generally succeeded 
in dislodging the enemy off their own bat. Such 
affairs as this happened no less than three times 
before it was dark, and in each case the Germans had 
had to leave their dead and wounded behind them. 

One poor fellow lay with his head propped up 



SATURDAY NIGHT 143 

against a heap of stones by the wayside. His chin 
and mouth had been torn from his face, and the 
ragged flesh hung in tatters, red and bleeding, as 
it had been torn. Almost before their eyes the 
man was passing away. It was awful. 

" Poor devil, all this 'ere wasn't 'is fault, yer 
know," a man muttered. 

As far as the Subaltern could hear, no one 
answered him. Perhaps some of them were 
wondering where that dying man's soul was going 
to. One was a Christian, of course, but one 
wanted to know more. One wanted, very badly, 
a little precise, definite knowledge of What Happens 
— after. At that moment he hated Hamlet. Yet 
the words kept surging through his brain : "To 
die ... to sleep ... in that sleep of death, 
what dreams may come ? . . . puzzles the will . . . 
makes us rather bear the ills we have, than fly 
to others that we know not of ! " 

Not that conscience had " made a coward " of 
him, nor of any other man or boy he had ever 
seen, a great deal nearer to death and vital, 
elementary things than Shakespeare had ever been. 
He felt a little foolish for it, but all the same he 
was thrilled by a sensation of triumphant superiority 
to the Bard of Avon. 

All the time the rain was streaming down, and 
all the time their clothes grew wetter and wetter. 
Just before dusk a halt was made by the roadside, 
and at last the booming of the guns died down to 
a silence that was only broken by the incessant 
patter of the rain upon the sodden earth. 



144 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

There was not much to eat, only biscuits, whose 
freshness and crispness had been lost in moist 
pockets. Nobody was thirsty : there was too much 
water externally ! 

It was quite dark when they moved on. Some- 
how the darkness used to come to them as a 
tremendous relief, as an armistice. They felt, in 
a subtle way, more at home in it, for it shut out 
from their eyes the strange sights and horrors of 
a land quite foreign to them. After the wearing 
day, it brought a freshness that was exhilarating, 
a refreshing coolness to the cheeks and hands that 
was gratifying and soothing. In spite of every- 
thing their spirits rose. 

As they passed over a little railway station, 
innocent, as usual, of any suspicion of a platform, 
with a box set up as waiting-room, one of the 
men in the section of fours behind him stumbled 
heavily over the single lines. 

" Nah then, Bill, wotcher doing to New Street 
Station ? " New Street Station, with its smoke, 
and hurrying crowds, and shrieking steam to be 
compared to this clean, open, deserted spot ! The 
daring of such a comparison was stupendous. It 
appealed instantly to the men's sense of the 
ridiculous. They roared with laughter. 

The rain fell with depressing regularity, the wind 
blew gustily, but the ice had been broken, an 
example had been set, and they all vied with each 
other in forgetting their troubles in laughter. 

" Blessed if it ain't Saturday night ! " said one. 
It was impossible to say offhand what day it was, 



SATURDAY NIGHT 145 

but after a slight argument they arrived at the 
astounding discovery that it was indeed Saturday. 
The discovery was astounding, because it was 
almost incredible to them that such misery could 
happen on a Saturday night — the night of the 
week — the night of marketing, of toothsome dishes, 
of melodrama and music halls. 

" If my missus could see me now," roared a 
Reservist, " wouldn't her laff ! " He was, perhaps, 
a great deal more amused than she would have 
been, poor woman. 

" I ain't agoing to Church to-morrer," said 
another, with assumed languor. " I'll lay a'bed, 
an' smoke me baccy, an' read me Sunday papers " 
(derisive groans). 

" Me and Sam's goin' on ' Midnight Pass ' ter- 
night, ain't we, Sam?" inquired a young "time- 
serving " fellow. " Who's on at the Hipper- 
drome ? " 

" Oh ! Mah-rie Lloyd." 

" Get urt, you'm too young to see our Mah-rie." 
Roars of laughter, that almost shut out the wind 
with their heartiness ! 

The Subaltern could tell very accurately how 
their thoughts were flying homewards, and he 
could see the very same pictures in front of their 
eyes, because he lived near to where most of them 
lived, and knew the sights that most of them 
knew. Their homes on Saturday night ! The 
warm red tiles of their kitchen floors ; the " scrap " 
mats (laboriously hand sewn) in front of the bright 
fires in their " grates." The walls of their 
h 



14G " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

" parlours," bedecked with gorgeous lithographs, 
calendars and framed texts ! 

All the things they loved so much to do on 
Saturday nights. The humming market street, 
entirely blocked with its double rows of booths. 
How pleasant it must have seemed to them ! At 
the top of the street the church stared impassively 
into space ; at the bottom, the trams clanged and 
grinded as they rounded the corner and swung 
triumphantly into the square. The stalls, brightly 
lit by flaring gas-jets, laden with meat, fish, fruit, 
sweets, music, flowers, all that the Soul could 
long for throughout a restful Sunday day. Their 
womenfolk, with their heads covered in the 
ubiquitous shawl of many colours, buzzing busily 
from booth to booth, with a purse clutched in one 
hand, and an open " string " bag, filled with bulky 
newspaper-covered parcels, in the other. The men 
looking on with hands in pockets, English-wise, 
indefinably self-conscious in the face of the delicate 
business of shopping. Then perhaps an hour or 
two's excitement in a shag-scented picture palace, 
or a crowded music hall with some big star at the 
top of the bill, a small one at the bottom, and 
the between turns lamentable. And, of course, a 
visit to some busy " saloon bar " redolent of 
" beer and 'baccy." Then home on the electric 
tram. 

The thought of it all did not, as might be 
expected, make them sad. In fact, the home 
memories seemed to warm their hearts, and the 
humour of this " Saturday night," which might 



SATURDAY NIGHT 147 

have left more delicately cultured natures un- 
touched, appealed to them irresistibly. 

That night the Subaltern, too, had his dreams. 
They did not fly homewards : he would have hated 
to have been surrounded and overwhelmed by his 
family : he shrank at the thought of congratula- 
tions : he shuddered at the idea of explanations. 
To-night he would have wished to be quite alone. 
And in London ! 

First of all would come a hot bath at the hotel — 
a tremendous scrubbing, and a " rub down," with 
a big towel — haircuttings, and shaving, and nail 
cleanings ! Then he would get into mufti. He 
chose, after a careful review, a lounge suit of a 
grey-blue colour that had been fashionable that 
summer. It was light, and he had always liked 
the feel of it on his shoulders. He chose the shirt, 
collar and tie to go with it. He imagined himself 
completely dressed, and he looked with pleasure 
down at the straight creases in his trousers, at 
his neat patent leather boots with their suede tops. 
It pleased him tremendously to imagine himself 
once more properly " clothed and in his right 
mind." 

The next thing would be a feed. He reminded 
himself of his hunger, and argued that he did not 
want anything " fancy." He would go to a grill 
and order just what he liked, and a lot of it. The 
" Trocerdilli " was just the place. First of all 
would come a " short one" — not that he needed 
an appetiser ! He imagined himself seated at a 
table, the cloth startlingly white, the cutlery and 



148 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

glasses reflecting a thousand points of light. He 
could hear the band, above the whirr of conversa- 
tion, playing something he knew. He was glancing 
down the menu card, and the waiter was at his 
side. A soup that was succulent, thick and hot — 
his mouth watered ! Whitebait, perhaps. He saw 
their round little eyes and stiff tails as he squeezed 
his slice of lemon over them. He felt the wafer- 
slice of brown bread and butter in his fingers. A 
whisky-and-soda, and a double one at that, to 
drink — he was tired of these French wines. A 
steak " from the grill " — undoubtedly a steak — 
tender, juicy, red, with " chipped " potatoes, lying 
in long gold-and-brown fingers around it. His 
teeth clashed at the thought of it ! What would 
he have " to follow " ? Something rich and cold ! 
A meringue glacee was not good enough for the 
occasion. A cream bombe glade, or, better still, a 
Peche Melba. He saw the red syrup stuff in the 
little glass plate that it would be served on. And 
the peach — like the cheeks of a lovely child ! At 
last, if he could manage it — which he did not at 
the moment doubt — something in the savoury 
omelette line. And to finish up with, the Egyptian 
should bring him some coffee. He saw the 
Egyptian very clearly, with his little red cap and 
his dusky cheeks. Then, last of all, the man with 
the cigars and liqueurs wheeled his tray. A good 
cigar from the top tray, clipped and lit by the man's 
lamp. Then to choose from the half score of 
bottles on the lower tray. Chartreuse, Benedictine, 
better still, Grand Marmier. 



SATURDAY NIGHT 149 

That really was all. Nothing to do now but 
lean back in his chair, and between his sips gaze 
contentedly through his cigar smoke at the lights, 
the mirrors, the palms, and whirring electric fans 
and the happy, flushed diners, with that curious, 
strained, puzzled and amused look that creeps 
into the backs of people's eyes at such times. 

Then he pictured himself leaving the restaurant, 
climbing the stairs. The glass door was thrown 
open for him to pass through, with a gesture that 
was positively grandiloquent. 

The cold air of the street was fanning his heated 
cheek. People were sweeping by him as he walked 
down Coventry Street. Ships that passed in the 
night ! Passionate eyes stabbed him. Strange 
scents momentarily swept over him. . . . 

There was a completeness of detail in all these 
pictures that wrung from him a very grim smile. 
Would he remember the war as vividly as he then 
remembered all that? 

He saw himself pause in the gutter of Wardour 
Street while a taxi slid by. He saw himself survive 
the lure of the Empire, saw himself deciding not to 
cross the road, and go down to the Alhambra. 

Eventually he reached a music hall. He was 
going in now. He was taking his place that 
moment in the plush stall. On the stage a little 
pseudo nigger was joking privately with the con- 
ductor. He laughed at one of the jokes he remem- 
bered. Then a woman came on. She was tragic, 
stately. He was thrilled by her slimness, her 
weirdness, her vitality. The whole atmosphere of 



150 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

the theatre was electrified by her personality. She 
was singing a song in a way that he had never 
heard before. He remembered it still. It was a 
Tango song. " His Tango girl ! " His thoughts 
flew off at a tangent. . . . 



CHAPTER XXV 

THE CROSSING OF THE AISNE 

They spent a delectable night, with their boots 
off, between real blankets, after a real wash. 
Very early, before it was really light, they joined 
on to the Battalion, and slid down the hill. 

The Subaltern had a few moments' talk with 
a friend who had commanded the " Divisional 
Guard " during the night. 

" Scarcely got any sleep," he said. " But I took 
a peep at their room. It was laid out for a 
pucca breakfast. Jove, I could have done with 
some ! " 

At the door of the house he had been guarding, 
quite alone, and leaning heavily on his thick stick, 
stood the Divisional Commander. No doubt he 
knew of the struggle that lay before them, and 
was taking the opportunity of reviewing his bat- 
talions as they went in to battle. His face was 
red, his hair was iron grey, and rather long. He 
was a fine big man, there was a presence to him, a 
rugged and determined look. 

A few minutes later they had plunged into the 
depths of a thick morning mist, that rolled like a 
lake between the heights. The steep road led them 

151 



152 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

at length to the banks of the Aisne. The Germans 
had naturally blown up the bridge behind them, 
but the Sappers had erected a temporary structure 
by the side of the ruined one. It quivered under 
their weight, and as the Subaltern looked at the 
water swirling so swiftly beneath, he wondered what 
would happen if one of those huge shells were to 
blow it sky high. . . . 

Running parallel to the river, and about thirty 
yards away, was a canal. This was likewise 
successfully passed, and so the Aisne was crossed 
without a shot being fired. 

The Battalion was concentrated while the rest 
of the Brigade crossed the river. And all the time 
the sun was chasing away the light clouds of river 
vapour. Soon the enemy would see them, and 
they would be caught in this difficult and dangerous 
movement, and the results would be disastrous. 

But the minutes passed, and the mist melted 
almost entirely away, and still the guns were 
silent. At last they moved off, and began to 
ascend the slope. They were only just clear of 
the place when there was a whistle, a shriek, a 
bang and a roar. The explosion was two or three 
times greater than anything they had heard before. 
The very noise was intimidating, paralysing, and 
before they had had time to rally their nerves and 
collect themselves, before the awakened echoes had 
died away in the woods above, a second shell, as 
mighty as the first, sailed over their heads and 
exploded as titanically as it had done. This was 
the first occasion on which the British Armies had 



THE CROSSING OF THE AISNE 158 

been brought face to face with the German super- 
heavy artillery. Naturally the result was a little 
disconcerting. 

Tons of death-dealing metal and explosive were 
being hurled through the air as if Atlas were 
hurling stars about. There was something ele- 
mental, and superhuman about such colossal 
force. One felt like a pygmy in a Battle of the 
Gods. 

They were profoundly ignorant of anything that 
was happening. Everything was normal, except 
the roar of guns. There was not even a sign of 
the cavalry being driven in. The only thing to do 
was to keep on until an order came, or something 
definite happened. 

The road had turned into a village called Moussy, 
and was now running parallel to the river, along 
the side of the slope. An order was passed along 
to " keep down under cover of the right bank," 
so they advanced, half crouching, about half a 
mile. 

Then, with a suddenness that amazed him, the 
Subaltern saw the Platoon in front begin to scramble 
hastily over the bank, and run off directly up the 
hill. No order was given, he could see no ex- 
planation for such a move. He hesitated for a 
second, wondering whether it would not be better 
to find out what was happening before he moved 
his Platoon. But battles are sometimes lost by 
just such pauses, so he waved his arm, signalling 
to deploy and extend to the right. A second or 
so later his men were in line with the other Platoon, 



154 » CONTEMPTIBLE » 

advancing over a green field towards a bank. 
Their rifles were loaded, bayonets fixed, bodies 
bent forward — ready for anything. 

They did not have long to wait. 

Another " Jack Johnson " landed in front of 
them. They could see the earth as it flew upwards 
the other side of the hedge. Was it a chance shot, 
or would the Germans land a direct " hit " next 
time? That was the question that worried the 
Subaltern as he advanced to the hedge. He was 
also puzzled as to what was really happening, or 
what he was expected to do. Not another Officer 
was in sight. 

In a few seconds the bank was reached. Here 
he made a temporary halt for the men to recover 
their breath. Men cannot be expected to shoot 
well if they cannot breathe. 

Half a minute passed, and he began to consider 
the advisability of sending out several scouts to 
reconnoitre, as the whole responsibility of command 
in that part seemed to rest with him. 

" 'Ere's the Captain a-comin' up," said a man. 

Sure enough, there he was, coming up behind 
the bank. The Subaltern heaved a sigh of relief. 

" D'you know what this is all about, sir? " 

" No," said the Captain, as much as to say 
" How should I ? " 

" We had better hold on here, and wait and see 
what is to be done," he added. 

Arm-chair strategists may not know it, but a 
man who has not learned how to " wait and see " 
is not much use in tactical warfare. War is not, 



THE CROSSING OF THE AISNE 155 

as some people seem to think, an excuse for a 
perfect orgy of recklessness. But that is by the 
way. 

" It would not be a bad idea if you went forward 
to see what is happening. I think I can see some 
people coming up between the trees on the left 
there." 

The Subaltern set out, without loss of time. 
Yes, there certainly were " people " advancing 
cautiously up the hill, from round the corner, but 
there were not many of them. Still crouching, 
he began once more to mount the hill. As he 
neared the top, he dropped on his hands and knees 
in the long grass, as he feared that he might 
unwittingly appear over the enemy's skyline, and 
be shot down where he stood. 

He peered cautiously about him. The summit of 
the hill was round and smooth. Not a particle of 
cover was offered, but about twenty yards down 
the other side he saw the edge of a dense wood, 
which appeared to roll, uninterrupted, halfway up 
the further slope. The top of this slope formed 
the skyline, and seemed to be about three-quarters 
of a mile away. Except for the men working 
their way up on his left, whom he had already 
noticed, there was not a man in sight; but the 
shells were still sailing overhead. 

At length the party came up, and amongst them 
was the Colonel of one of the Battalions in the 
Brigade. The Subaltern immediately asked him 
for orders. 

" As far as I can see," said the Colonel, " this 



156 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

hill is a sort of salient in our line. The enemy are 
probably holding that ridge along there," pointing 
to the skyline. " Anyway, we will hold on to this 
hill until I have orders for a general attack." 

The Subaltern walked down the hill to report 
what he had found out. 

" All right," said the Captain; " you had better 
take your Platoon and all these men round about 
here, and help to hold on to the hill." 

He called for his Section Commanders, explained 
what was to be done, and set off once more. As 
they were just about to cross the crest, he signalled 
to them to " get down," and at length they took 
up a sort of position along the edge of the wood 
on the other side. 

The enemy had evidently not " spotted " them, 
and they were left in peace for an hour. Then 
their troubles began. 

It seemed as though the hill suddenly became a 
place of vast importance. The Colonel arrived 
upon the scene, with reinforcements of over a 
hundred men, and they immediately set to work 
putting the hill into a state of defence. Then a 
battery of field guns were drawn up into position 
on the " safe " side of the hill, and began without 
delay to shell the enemy. Their arrival, however, 
was decidedly a mixed blessing. So far, the troops 
had held the hill quite successfully, and had been 
undisturbed by hostile artillery, for the simple 
reason that the enemy was unaware of their posi- 
tions. Now the artillery had come and " given 
the whole show away," and no sooner did the 



THE CROSSING OF THE AISNE 157 

enemy discover that the hill was held, than he 
began forthwith to bombard them. 

It was obviously impossible to continue " dig- 
ging in." The only thing to do was to squeeze 
one's self into the ground, and pray. It seemed as 
if the titanic thunderbolts, that had hitherto been 
hurled aimlessly about, were suddenly concen- 
trated on that one spot. It seemed as if all the 
gods in Olympus were hurling their rage upon 
it, determined to obliterate it from the face of the 
earth. The most gigantic guns that had ever 
been used in war were concentrating their fire upon 
it, and the result was awful. Nothing they had 
experienced before was comparable to it. It 
seemed as if the ground were being thrashed with 
whips of a thousand leaden-loaded thongs. The 
smell of the lyddite was nauseating, the uproar 
stupefying. Dust rose in the air; trees crashed 
to the ground. 

Hell was let loose : Hell and Death were dashing 
around, converting that normal sky and that sane 
earth into a Pandemonium. The wonder was that 
a human life was spared. The Subaltern had a 
fleeting feeling that every one except himself must 
be dead. When the storm seemed for a moment 
to have abated, he looked around him and was 
surprised to see that very little damage had been 
done to the men. An inexperienced eye would 
possibly not have detected any casualties at all. 
From a Kipling point of view, the scene was an 
artistic failure. Not a man was shrieking; not a 
man " clawing up the ground." Here and there 



158 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

men had rolled over on their sides, and were groan- 
ing quite softly to themselves. Here and there a 
purple patch in the dusty khaki. . . . 

The instinct of men, like animals, is to crawl 
quietly away from their fellows, and die in solitude. 

The Colonel, very little perturbed by the bom- 
bardment, had sat throughout with his back resting 
against a tree, writing messages, or glaring at the 
map. Once, a large piece of shell casing had buried 
itself in the ground a few inches from his leg. 
The jagged piece was hot and heavy. 

" Good Heavens," he said to himself, " what 
curious things Chance and Fate are. If I had 
stretched my leg out! Why didn't I?" He 
smiled. 

At length a few Stretcher Bearers began to 
arrive, and the worst cases were carried off by 
them. Many of the less seriously wounded had 
to hobble, or even crawl down the hill, as best 
they could. It was a pitiable sight. 

The Subaltern looked up, and caught the eye of 
an Officer being carried off on a stretcher. His 
mutilated leg was covered by his Burberry. He 
instantly recognised him as an Officer who had 
" brought out " a " draft " some time previously. 

If he were suffering great pain, he did not show 
it. He seemed annoyed, and a little ashamed. 

" Just the look," thought the Subaltern, " that 
a fellow wears when he's out at Cricket — walking 
back to the Pavilion." 

The comparison, though not happy, was apt. 
It was just like Cricket. Some missed their 



THE CROSSING OF THE AISNE 159 

catches ; some never had any sent to them ; and 
others did brilliant things. A few had long 
innings, and compiled glorious scores, but the 
majority " got out " pretty soon. 

He pulled from his pocket a " Caporal " cigarette, 
and placed it in his mouth, partly to show every 
one around how cool this inferno had left him, and 
partly to steady his nerves. But just as he was 
striking the match, a violent desire to laugh 
assailed him. He suppressed this tendency to- 
wards hysterics, but he shook so much that it 
was impossible to light the cigarette, and in the 
end he threw it away in disgust. 

And so the day dragged on. They were shelled 
with varying ferocity all the time. Once they 
attempted to launch an attack, but it failed, 
almost before it had started. The enemy artillery 
observation seemed too acute, the weight of his 
shells too heavy, and the wood in front too thick. 

About three o'clock in the afternoon the General 
must have decided that the holding of the hill 
was too costly a business. He therefore ordered it 
to be evacuated, and the troops to retire on the 
village of Poussey. Every one, from the Colonel 
down, was privately relieved by this order, for 
every one felt that, if they had stayed there, by the 
end of the next day there would have been no 
regiment left. 

The behaviour of the men had been superb. 
They had entered into this new phase of the war 
with that strange combination of recklessness and 
reliability which had made our " contemptible 



160 « CONTEMPTIBLE " 

little army " what it was. Not a complaint had 
been uttered. They had joked all day — and there 
is an especial relish to jokes that are made be- 
tween the thunderclaps — but they were worn out, 
not only by the terrors of that day, but by the 
accumulated loss of sleep and lack of food. 

A further advance was impossible. The Germans 
had checked the onrush by the weight of their 
artillery. The victory of the Marne was over. 
The phase of the deadlock had begun. 



CHAPTER XXVI 

THE CELLARS OF POUSSEY 

The Subaltern was too dazed to realise the signifi- 
cance of the day's fighting, but he brought his men 
back to the village without mishap, and behind 
the shelter of its walls they lay down to sleep just 
as they were. 

In a little time the whole Battalion was rallied 
in the village, and fresh reinforcements were sent 
forward to hold a line nearer the village. 

The night that followed was cold and windy. 
In spite of a fire that his men lit in a little side 
street, and various sacks that they " lifted " from 
barns, the cold caused extreme discomfort, and it 
was with a great sigh of relief that at length dawn 
broke upon them. 

The Subaltern stumbled to his feet before it was 
fully light, shook the miserable sacks from his feet, 
and set out to explore the village. 

Like most of its kind, it had only one central 
street, which was steep and winding. Underfoot 
were the usual cobbles, and the walls had a queer 
look of leaning inwards over the road with a pro- 
tective air. He had not gone many yards before 
he came upon the little village square. Half of 
m 161 



162 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

it was shut in by a huge, castle-like structure, which 
with its carved stone fountain gave the place almost 
a medieval air. 

The gate in the wall was unlocked, and through 
the aperture he caught a glimpse of a trim garden 
and a comfortable-looking house. 

" This," said the Subaltern to himself, " is just 
the sort of place that the Captain would choose for 
his headquarters." 

He slipped into the garden and peeped through 
one of the windows. Sure enough, there were the 
Captain, the Senior Subaltern and the Doctor. 
They had already risen and were trying to boil a 
kettle on the ashes of last night's fire. It was not 
an inviting scene, by any means, but he pushed 
open the door, and started in the search for food. 

The room in which he found them was a typical 
French kitchen, with a dirty grey ceiling, walls, 
and stone floor. The furniture consisted of a 
table, a couple of forms, and a chair or two. Other- 
wise there was absolutely no attempt at either 
comfort or adornment. Ransacking a dirty cup- 
board, the Subaltern drew forth in triumph a 
promising-looking bottle, and having pulled the 
cork, smelt at the contents with caution. It 
contained a curious sort of liquor, apparently home 
made, which saved their lives that morning. Then 
the Doctor, after many amusing efforts to clean 
himself in a bucket, went off to the improvised 
hospital that had been set up in the village. 

The early part of the morning passed peacefully 
enough; but the bombardment was renewed at 



THE CELLARS OF POUSSEY 163 

about seven o'clock, and was followed by a hasty 
evacuation of the village to reinforce the front 
line. The Captain's Company, however, and one 
other, were ordered to stand by in reserve, but to 
be prepared to move at a moment's notice. The 
bombardment rolled on as usual for about an hour. 
Then came a tremendous crash, which made every 
wall and roof tremble, and gave warning that some- 
thing worse than ordinary had happened. 

Everybody rushed into the street, but there was 
no longer a square. One of the " Jack Johnsons " 
had alighted in the centre of it. The first glance 
at the scene disclosed the fact that the fountain 
had been blown sky high, and the cobbles torn up 
like pebbles, but it was not until afterwards that 
one realised that there had been men in that 
square. None was left alive in it now. One poor 
fellow had been struck by a piece of shell and had 
died before his head had crashed against the 
ground. The colour of the dead face reminded 
the Subaltern hauntingly of the grey walls of the 
kitchen. Fortunately, the eyes were closed, but 
the horror of the thing — the shattered skull, the 
protruding, blood-smeared brains, bit into the 
Subaltern's soul. He gazed at it for a moment, 
spellbound, and then turned in towards the 
kitchen, feeling broken and humiliated. 

" We must get them into better shelter than this," 
said the Captain. " That might happen again." 

The owners of the house came out to meet 
them. The old man and his wife seemed strangely 
unperturbed by the noise and the sights around 



164 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

them. He was a fine old man, with a yellow skin, 
long, flowing beard, and a bald head. He explained 
that he was the local Mayor, and there was more 
natural dignity about him than many a Lord 
Mayor of a huge city. He told them that under- 
neath his house was a cellar large enough to hide 
the whole Company, and led the Captain away to 
see it. 

In a few moments they returned. 

"Just the very place," said the Captain; " we'll 
get the Company down there right away, before the 
next big one comes over." 

He led them down a flight of steps, opened a 
door, and stepped gingerly into pitch darkness. 
When their eyes became accustomed to the gloom, 
it was just possible to make out the dimensions of 
the place, and very gradually the men filed in, 
and lay down wherever they could. By the time 
the last man had pushed his way in, there was 
scarcely an unoccupied foot of room in the whole 
cellar. 

After a time the talk died down, and sounds of 
slumber filled the darkness. Probably the only 
men in the whole Company who did not spend the 
rest of that day in sleep were the " look-out " men, 
one posted in the road to intercept messages, and 
the other at the head of the steps to give warning. 

As soon as it was dark they could leave the 
cellar with perfect safety — a thing they were glad 
to do, for the atmosphere was not as fresh as it 
might have been, and the place was very crowded. 
Only about half of the men, however, availed 



THE CELLARS OF POUSSEY 165 

themselves of the opportunity. The others were 
too tired and just went on sleeping. 

Some time in the middle of the night they were 
awakened by the Mess Sergeant, who had success- 
fully arrived with rations. The only possible way, 
it seemed, was to get supplies over the bridges 
under cover of darkness, as the enemy had got their 
range to a yard. He left their share of food, and 
then hurriedly left. 

" If I don't get well over by the morning, I 
don't get over at all," he explained. 

The next day was in every way similar to the 
previous one. No order to move was received, 
and sleep was the most popular occupation. Now 
and then, in intervals between the artillery duels, 
they would dash up the steps and air themselves 
as best as they could. In one of his rambles the 
Subaltern alighted upon a peach tree, which was 
greatly appreciated. When the familiar sounds 
began again, they would troop once more down the 
steps and fall asleep in the cellar, until peace was 
restored. 

On one occasion, following his men after he had 
seen them all safely down, a piece of high explosive 
shell-dust bounced from the wall, and embedded 
itself in the skin of his temple. 

" By Jove ! " he said, when he was safely in the 
cellar ; " this is all very well, but if a big one did 
happen to drop on this house above here, we 
shouldn't stand the ghost of a chance. It would 
be better to be out in the open. We might be 
buried by the falling bricks." 



166 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

Fate was kind. But once, on regaining the open, 
some one noticed that a weathercock had been 
struck off one of the gables. 

" It just wanted to be twenty feet lower," said 
some one speculatively. 

The Subaltern enjoyed very much his short stay 
in Poussey. The old Mayor and his wife were a 
charming couple, and as usual did everything in 
their power to make their Allies comfortable. On 
the other hand, it must be admitted that the British 
Officers, with their unfailing politeness and good 
spirits, made no small impression on them. The 
Subaltern once heard the old lady say to her 
husband — 

" Eh ! Mon vieux, quelle difference ! lis sont 
si gentils, si polis . . . et les autres. . . . Ach ! 
Les cochons ! " 

" What an impertinence," he thought, " to 
compare us ! " 

His coat was badly rent in the back, and once, 
while he was asleep, the old lady took it, and 
mended it with thick red twine. 

Of course they had the inevitable sons or nephews 
at the front, and they had received no news of 
them. One had to listen with great attention, 
and an air of solicitude, and murmur some little 
consolations. 

One morning, the Subaltern forgets whether it 
was the first or second day of their stay, the old 
man took him into his library. It was a long, low 
room, fragrant with the smell of old books, and it 
looked out upon the leafy orchard. All the volumes 



THE CELLARS OF POUSSEY 167 

were beautifully bound and nearly all were standard 
classics. He was surprised at the culture of this 
little spot, tucked away in the intellectual desert 
of rural France, and at the refinement of this 
man, who had been a farmer all his life. All the 
while a great battle was being fought outside ; one 
could not be sure of life for a consecutive hour; 
at such a time it was amazing to be fingering fine 
old books, in the quiet, sombre library, by the side 
of an old man in a black velvet skullcap. 

Eventually the Subaltern picked out a volume 
by Segur, not because he wanted to read about 
war, but because he feared that the Voltaires, the 
Rousseaux, and the Hugos would be too difficult 
for him. S6gur was easy : one could skip whole 
phrases without losing his gist : one was not 
worried by the words one did not know. He 
read of Napoleon's retreat on Paris — in its time 
accounted the most scientific retreat in history. 
Soissons ! Montmirail ! Why, they had almost 
passed into both these places ! How everything 
that had ever happened would shrink before this 
— which was going on now, half a mile away. 



CHAPTER XXVII 

THE FIRST TRENCHES 

Whether it was the second or third day of their 
stay in Poussey that the march began again the 
Subaltern does not know. The only thing he 
remembers is being awakened from a peaceful 
afternoon nap, hurrying rather confusedly on 
parade, and marching off, out of the village. 
Turning sharply to the left, the troops descended 
the hill, and at length crossed the canal, which had 
evidently parted company with the Aisne. All 
was quiet, and he was making his way drowsily 
along the dusty road, when a whizz and a whistle 
brought him sharply to his senses. There could 
be no mistake about it, the shell was coming right 
at them. 

" Oh, damn," he said; " we've been spotted." 

The shell burst short of them. 

There was a space of about two hundred yards 
that would obviously be shell swept, and the 
road offered not the slightest cover. Two hundred 
yards ahead there appeared to be a good stout 
bank, which would shield them very effectually. 
The only thing to be done was to rush on as fast 
as they could, and thus suffer as few casualties as 
possible. 

168 



THE FIRST TRENCHES 169 

The men, however, did not quite realise the 
situation. By long training and a great deal of 
actual experience they had learned that the best 
thing to do when you are under fire is to tear for the 
nearest cover, and, failing that, flop down on your 
faces where you stand, and take your chance. As 
a general rule this proved sound enough, but in this 
especial case it was obvious to the Officers that the 
longer they delayed, the heavier would be the 
casualty list, a fact which the men did not under- 
stand. The British soldier is a sportsman, and 
understands the game as well as his Officer. He 
only wants to be led ; and in battle, scarcely that. 
Driving is an Art absolutely unknown in the 
British Army. 

In the stress of the tense moments that followed, 
the Subaltern owned to himself that as a driver he 
was not much good. The German artillery had 
got their range to a yard, and it was very trying 
to have to stand up in the open and spend precious 
seconds in urging on men who ought to have 
known better. He was strongly tempted to run 
for it, but a sense of duty prevailed, and he stayed 
there dashing about in a futile effort to speed 
matters up. He shouted, he shrieked, he swore, 
he has a dim recollection of even kicking at his 
men in the effort to get on out of the terrible danger 
zone. But perhaps to his overwrought nerves 
the delay seemed longer than perhaps it really was, 
or perhaps force of numbers from behind succeeded 
where he had failed ; anyhow, he got his Platoon into 
safety, and only sustained the loss of five or six men. 



170 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

His Platoon Sergeant behaved with an intrepid 
bravery that gave him a moral right to the 
Victoria Cross. He stayed in the fire-swept area 
to carry two wounded men into safety, and tended 
several others as they lay. He received no recog- 
nition — but those who were near him will never 
forget. 

The bank reached, safety was achieved for the 
moment, at any rate. They pushed on for another 
half-mile or so, and were then halted under cover 
of the bank. They had not long to wait before 
the purpose of the whole manoeuvre was revealed 
to them. In their capacity of Local Reserve they 
had been hurried to the point of the line where the 
next attack in force was expected. 

The whole thing was ridiculous in its mechanical 
exactitude. In about five minutes the artillery 
bombardment died down. Hard upon its heels 
arose a most lively rifle-fire, which showed clearly 
enough that the preparatory bombardment was 
over, and the real attack about to begin. Higher 
and higher rose the note struck by the rifle -fire, 
as the contest thickened. Never had they heard 
such intensity of concentration before. Now up, 
now down, it rocked on in one sweeping, con- 
tinuous note for nearly half-an-hour. Then it 
died down, almost to silence. The attack had 
failed, and the Local Reserve would not be 
needed. 

It does not require much imagination to picture 
the state of mind of the men in reserve — cowering 
behind the bank. They could almost see the whole 



THE FIRST TRENCHES 171 

thing — the grey dots crawling over the crest of 
the hill, the shots that announced their detection, 
the uprising of them in a solid mass, sweeping 
towards the trenches ; the withering fire, reaping 
in its victims like a scythe. They were wondering 
every second of the time, " How far have the 
Germans got ? Have they pushed us out ? " But 
no order came to advance to re-capture the trenches, 
so they presumed all was well. 

As the crossing of the open ground had been so 
rough, they were allowed to postpone their return 
journey until it was dark. But even then they 
were not safe. 

The Colonel led the Battalion a clear two hundred 
yards away from the road. The darkness was so 
intense that they could not be seen, but in the 
silence of the night they were sure to be heard, 
and, on hearing them, the Germans would cer- 
tainly plaster the road with shells in the hope of 
"getting" them as they returned. 

The Colonel was right. The German observa- 
tion-posts must have heard them, for the old, 
familiar whizz came whistling through the darkness. 
The first shells seemed incredibly long in the air. 
One's heart was in one's mouth, as one listened 
to hear if they were going " to fall short," or "go 
over." Then the crash came, in front, on the 
road, and they knew that the Colonel had saved 
them once more. Even as it was, their Company 
Quartermaster-Sergeant was hit in the foot. 

The shelling in the darkness must have affected 
the nerves of the leading Company. They struck 



172 « CONTEMPTIBLE " 

out at a tremendous pace. The Subaltern was 
dropping further and further behind. He could 
not keep up, and the prospect of losing touch in the 
darkness was extremely serious. 

At last the canal bridge was reached and the 
bombardment ceased, but instead of being allowed 
to turn in towards Poussey, they were told to 
relieve the other two companies in the trenches. 

They found the line, and " took over " the 
trenches without mishap. Of course, in those days 
trenches were not built as they were later. To 
begin with, the men had no tools, except their 
" entrenching implements," so naturally the work 
could not be very elaborate. Moreover, the 
thought that such works would be wanted for 
longer than a day or two never entered their 
heads. Each man dug a shelter for himself, 
according to his skill, ingenuity and perseverance. 
There was little or no attempt at digging a long, 
consecutive trench. A series of holes had been 
dug, that was all. 

The monotony of the night was broken by the 
arrival and distribution of rations. An hour or so 
after this had been accomplished the east began 
to grow grey, and they were soon able to take 
stock of their surroundings. 

The trenches, or rather holes, were dug on the 
side of the road. Behind them the ground sloped 
straight down to the canal. They could not 
actually see the enemy trenches; and there was 
no attempt made by either side to " snipe." 

The first day of trench life — if such it could be 



THE FIRST TRENCHES 173 

called — was not a very trying experience. There 
was nothing to do except a little improvement of 
the shelters. Their only duty was to " wait and 
see." It was not cold, and they had their rations. 
The Subaltern dug, and slept, and ate, and then 
dug again, and thus the day passed. Indeed, he 
even began to write a long letter home in his note- 
book, but he lost the pages almost as soon as they 
were written. 

They were shelled twice during the day, but all 
one had to do was to lie comfortably in one's " funk 
hole " and wait for the " hate " to die down. After 
many experiences in the open, without a particle 
of cover, being shelled in deep holes had few 
terrors. 

" Of course," he said to himself, " if they get a 
direct hit on this hole I'm done for, but other- 
wise I'm pretty safe." 

Nevertheless, in spite of the holes, several men 
were carried away. 

The greatest inconvenience to the place was the 
stench of decaying horses. About twenty yards 
down the hill the horses belonging to a whole 
Battery had been struck by a shell. About a 
dozen of them lay dead where they had been stand- 
ing. The story had been told of how one of the 
Subalterns of the other Company had left his hole, 
rifle in hand, in the middle of a bombardment, to 
put the wounded animals out of their agony. He 
had succeeded in shooting them all, but on his way 
back had been struck in the foot with a piece of 
shell casing. It was an heroic, kindly act, typical 



174 « CONTEMPTIBLE " 

of the brave man who did it. But it seemed a 
pity. . . . 

It was, of course, impossible to bury the dead 
animals, and to drag them further away was 
out of the question in the daylight. There was 
nothing else to do but to sit tight and endure in 
silence. 

Their second night in the trenches was merely 
a repetition of the first. After a lively sunset 
fusillade had died down, the Germans lay quiet 
until dawn. The German artillery were so regular 
in their habits that it almost seemed as though 
they must be working by a printed programme, 
which directed that at six o'clock precisely in the 
morning, every battery was to fire off a certain 
number of rounds, absolutely regardless of whatever 
targets they might have been offered, and, having 
fired the requisite number of rounds, the battery 
was to lie quiet until, say, eleven o'clock. Of 
course, the thing was ludicrous, but it seemed to 
be the only explanation. 

A mail was included in the rations. He himself 
drew blank, but the Senior Subaltern was sent a 
box of chocolates. The sight of them, on Active 
Service, was a farce. They were not the usual 
sort of chocolates that one saw — " plain," useful, 
nourishing chocolates. They were frankly fancy 
chocolates, creams with sugared tops, filled with 
nuts, marzipan, or jellies, inseparable from a 
drawing-room, and therefore ten times more 
acceptable and delightful. 

He got not a single letter from home, not from 



THE FIRST TRENCHES 175 

any one. Not that he minded much, at that time. 
Home, parents — any softness of any description — 
would have seemed unreal. 

The happiness of the following day was very 
much impaired by rain, which fell intermittently 
throughout the whole day. After the first shower 
he got up and began to look about him for some 
sort of protection. Rather than have nothing, 
he picked up a waterproof sheet that had belonged 
to a wounded man. It was covered with blood, 
but the next shower soon washed all trace of it 
off, and it kept him dry. 

The next night, just after rations had been dis- 
tributed, an order came to march off. Haste, it 
seemed, was imperative. And so, leaving behind 
as few things as possible, he paraded his men, 
without knowing where they were to go, and saw 
them set off behind the front Platoon. Just as 
he was about to set off himself, he slipped down 
the side of one of the holes, and as he fled, his 
sword slid from its scabbard, and vanished. He 
knew the chances of returning to that particular 
spot were five to one against, and he was deter- 
mined to " hang on " to his sword, come what 
might, so he let his Platoon go on, while he groped 
about in the darkness for it. It seemed incredible 
that a sword could hide itself so completely. He 
kicked about in the pitch-dark for what seemed 
to be endless minutes before his foot knocked 
against it. He " pushed it home " hurriedly, and 
started off in pursuit of the men. 

But the darkness had swallowed them up. He 



176 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

followed the road right into Poussey, but still there 
was no sign of them. No troops, he learned, had 
passed through since the previous morning. Evi- 
dently they had not gone that way. The only 
alternative was the " awkward " road over the 
canal bridge which led into the next village on the 
line — Souvir. 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

IN RESERVE AT SOUVIR 

He hurried on, for morning would break in 
half-an-hour, and he did not wish to be caught in 
that unwholesome hundred yards the other side 
of the canal bridge. He overtook his men sooner 
than he expected, and the open space was passed 
without any resistance. 

" They're probably expecting a big attack at 
dawn, and they've brought us up in reserve again," 
some one said. 

Sure enough, the attack took place, but, like its 
predecessor, it failed, and they naturally expected 
to be sent back to the trenches at Poussey. In 
this, however, they were disappointed. Dawn 
having broken, it was apparently thought to be 
needlessly imprudent to make the Battalion run 
the gauntlet once again. So they were allowed to 
stay where they were, with the caution that they 
were to be ready to move within five minutes of 
the Colonel's receipt of the order. It may sound a 
long time, but only a smart and efficient Battalion 
can do it. The Adjutant has to open and acquaint 
the CO. of the order. He has to rap out his own 
orders. Sleeping men have to be roused, equip- 
n 177 



178 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

merit thrown on, arms taken up. The men have 
to "fall in" in their right sections; have to be 
numbered, have to form fours. If there is any 
muddle whatever, a Battalion cannot move off in 
five minutes. 

They slept propped up against the bank for some 
hours ; then they were moved further up the road 
into the little village of Souvir. It appeared that 
their new role was to act as Local Reserve, and 
that they could amuse themselves how they liked 
as long as they were prepared " to move off at 
fifteen minutes' notice." 

The men broke into two big barns and made 
themselves tolerably comfortable. They lit little 
fires in the road and began to cook their breakfasts. 
The Officers of the Company billeted themselves 
on the hovel nearest the barns and set about the 
same object. 

" I think," mused the Senior Subaltern, " that 
it would be an excellent idea if some of us went on 
a foraging expedition. I should not be at all 
surprised if we did not have to stop here for weeks. 
And there may be one or two things to be picked 
up — before the others." 

So two of them went off on a tour of inspection. 
Noticing bee-hives outside the house of the village 
priest, they went in and bought two large jars of 
liquid honey. An estaminet yielded a couple of 
bottles of Medoc, and a patisserie, most unex- 
pectedly, some bread. 

Having successfully settled their business, there 
was time to look around. Souvir was a bigger 



IN RESERVE AT SOUVIR 179 

village than Poussey, and seemed to be teeming with 
troops, who looked as if they had been used to the 
place for years, and were likely to remain in it 
longer. The first object of interest was the church, 
which had been turned into a hospital for Germans, 
many of whom were sitting about on benches in 
the stone-flagged courtyard. The two Officers 
went in to have a closer look at them. The 
majority were so greyish pale, their hair such 
unlovely stubble, their temples so shrunken that 
the Subaltern pitied them in their morose dejection 
and slow-witted taciturnity. 

" I don't think we'd better go into the 
church," he said. " They'd probably throw us 
out." 

They passed through an archway in a huge 
medieval wall into the graveyard, and thence, by 
a sudden and complete transformation in time, 
colour and atmosphere, into a most delightful 
garden of magnificent proportions, with smooth 
lawns and sweeping drives. The chateau itself 
was scarcely in keeping with this stateliness. The 
impression it gave one came as an anti-climax. 
The Subaltern was beginning to develop a fine taste 
in French chateaux, but somehow this one did not 
rank with the others, although his brain reeled at 
the thought of the cost of it all. Probably that is 
why it failed as a work of art and beauty : it made 
one wonder how much it must have cost. 

A passer-by told them that it belonged to a 
certain woman whose name had been on every- 
body's lips, just befoi:e the war, and the informa- 



180 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

tion stimulated their interest. They wandered 
around, past silent fountains and over velvet lawns, 
stone terraces and gravel drives. On their way 
back they passed one of the big bay windows on 
the ground floor of the chateau. It was open, and 
they caught the faint but distinctive aroma 
of disinfectant. The erstwhile billiard-room had 
obviously been converted into a hospital dressing- 
room. The place was deserted, and they turned 
away without the intuition entering into either of 
their heads that they themselves would before 
long be carried into that very room. 

Souvir was apparently their headquarters for 
the time being, for if they moved away by day or 
night, they always marched back into it. And as, 
day by day, they saw the same sights and did the 
same things, the passage of time did not leave such 
exact impressions on his mind as the changing 
sights and actions of the moving battles had done. 

Compared with the days that had gone before 
they were divinely comfortable. Unless there was 
an alarm, they could sleep as long as they liked. 
There was not sufficient accommodation in the 
little hut, so the Officers commandeered a little 
shed at the side of it. Here there was plenty of 
straw, and for several mornings they lay dozing 
until eight or nine o'clock. 

The men were quite happy in their barns, and 
would not begin to stir before seven o'clock. 
Then they would hear in their sleep confused 
sounds of tramping feet and shouts in the road 
outside. 



IN RESERVE AT SOUVIR 181 

The voice of the Quartermaster-Sergeant, dis- 
tributing the rations, was always the most insistent. 

" 'Ere, who's 'ad that there tea? " 

" Fourty-two Smith took it down the street, 
Cooler Sawgint." 

(When there is more than one man of the same 
name in a Battalion, the last two figures of his 
regimental number, are, as it were, hyphenated 
on to it. Brown's number was, say, 1965, so to 
prevent mistakes he was always '65 Brown, to 
distinguish him from all the other Browns.) 

" Where's the Orderly Cor'pril of No. 5 Platoon ?" 

" Comin', Cooler Sawgint ! " 

Then another voice raised in pained expostula- 
tion — 

" 'Ere, look at *im — a hackin' up the bacon. 
Who d'ju think's comin' after you? " 

" Go and see why there ain't no rum, Watkins ! " 

" There ain't 'arf enough sugar for all them ! " 

" 'And over my firewood, will ye, or I'll . . . ! " 

And so on, and so forth. It was the tune to 
which they finally awoke every morning. 

When it was impossible to maintain the pretence 
of being asleep any longer, they would get up and 
shake themselves. They had passed the stage of 
wanting to take clothes off. Their uprising in the 
morning was as easy and simple as a dog's. Then, 
aided, perhaps, by one of their servants, they 
would set about getting their breakfast ready in 
the front room. The Subaltern discovered what a 
tremendous amount of trouble is entailed in the 
preparation of even the simplest meals. Tables 



182 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

to be moved, kettles to be filled, bread cut, jam and 
bully beef tins opened ! But each would have his 
own particular job, and they would soon be seated 
round the dirty table, drinking their tea out of 
cups, or their own mugs, and munching biscuits 
or bread. 

Now that they were getting their rations each 
night with the regularity of clockwork, they were 
beginning to appreciate properly the excellence 
of their fare. " Seeing," as the Senior Subaltern 
would say, " that we are on Active Service, I think 
the rations is an extraordinarily well managed 
show." 

The quality was good, and there was plenty of it. 
Personally, the Subaltern never succeeded in getting 
on very good terms with the " bully beef." He 
decided that it was " a bit too strong" for him; 
but the others devoured large quantities, and seemed 
all the better for it. 

The jam, at that time, and in that particular 
sector of the line, was good and, moreover, varied. 
The Subaltern does not ever remember suffering 
from the now notorious " plum and apple." There 
was even marmalade. 

He openly delighted in the biscuits, and would 
go about his work all day munching them. The 
bacon, too, as some one said, was " better than 
what we have in the Mess, sometimes." None of 
them posed as connoisseurs of rum, but a Sergeant, 
who looked as if he knew what he was talking about, 
praised it heartily; and, taken in hot tea, it 
banished all sorts of cares. . . . 



IN RESERVE AT SOUVIR 183 

Tea (without rum) and bacon, to be followed by- 
ration bread and marmalade (if possible) was the 
staple fare at breakfast. They would sit around 
the fire and smoke — there was a tobacco allowance 
included in the rations. The Subaltern, however, 
had lost his pipe, and attempts at cigarette rolling 
were not particularly successful. 

Every other day there used to be a mail, and 
with it, generally, papers from home. This was 
the first definite news they had had from " home " 
since leaving in mid-August. There was an 
enthralling interest in seeing how the people at 
home " were taking things." 

To be perfectly candid, before the war, the Army 
had placed very little reliance upon the patriotism 
or integrity of the country. The Army was a thing 
apart — detached from the swirl of conflicting ideas, 
and the eddies of political strife. The Army was, 
so to speak, on the bank, and it looked with stern 
disapproval at the river sweeping so swiftly by. 
It neither understood the forces that were hurrying 
the waters along, nor did it realise the goal that 
they were striving to reach. Perhaps it did not 
take the trouble, perhaps it could not. 

Then, when the war clouds began to blacken the 
horizon, the Army, having so little sympathy with 
the vast and complex civilisation which it was to 
defend, felt convinced that the national feelings 
and political sense of the nation would be slumber- 
ing so soundly that no call of honour could awaken 
it to the realisation of either its duty or its danger. 
But the horse which all the expert trainers had 



184 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

dismissed as a " non-starter " for the next great 
race, suddenly gathered his haunches under him, 
and shot out on the long track to victory. The 
Army, with the rest of the world, realised that, after 
all, the heart of the nation was in the right place. 
Nevertheless, the tremendous wave of patriotism 
that had swept so splendidly over Britain caused, 
at first, not a little suspense. 

" Good Heavens ! he's asking for a million men," 
gasped the Subaltern. 

" Well, if he doesn't get them, this Company will 
go over and fight for Germany," said the Captain. 
" The country isn't worth fighting for if it can't 
raise a million men." 

" The Government seem to be doing jolly well," 
some one volunteered. 

" And so they darn well ought," said the Senior 
Subaltern. " But you wait and see. If something 
wonderful does not happen in about six months' 
time, all sorts of fools will be up on their hind legs, 
shouting out how the show, as they would do it, 
should be run." 

As events turned out, the Senior Subaltern was 
not far wrong. 

At this time, too, the country was thrilled with 
its first feeling of pride in the Army since Waterloo. 
The dramatic rush of events — Mons, the Retreat, 
the dramatic rally when all seemed lost, and the 
splendid victory of the Marne, the continued 
advance, the deadlock on the Aisne — people were 
gasping at the magnificence of the success. They 
realised that the swift and sudden victory which 



IN RESERVE AT SOUVIR 185 

Germany had counted on had been frustrated, 
and that owing to the French and the " contemp- 
tible little Army " eventual victory had been 
assured. 

Every one who had the ear of the " public " was 
raining praise upon this contemptible little Army, 
and the contemptible little Army was surprised; 
but although they classified the eloquent speeches 
and dashing articles under the sweeping phrase of 
" hot air," these things pleased them a good deal, 
although they never have admitted it. The 
country, it appeared, had learned to appreciate 
them — a little late, it is true; still, in the volatile 
imagination of the public, they had arrived. They 
were quietly pleased, and awoke to the realisation 
of what fine fellows they were. 

" No more of the ' expensive, idle loafer ' talk," 
said some one. 

It was the vindication of the British Army. 



CHAPTER XXIX 

TO STRAIGHTEN THE LINE 

Later in the morning there would probably be 
an inspection of arms. They had always to be very 
careful that the rifles were in proper working order. 
A few stiff bolts at a critical moment might make 
all the difference. 

The next function would be dinner. This 
generally consisted of bully beef made into a sort 
of stew, and some potatoes, stolen from a field near 
by. It must be confessed that the stews were not 
a great success, and the Subaltern conceived a 
violent dislike to them. The sudden change from 
" the move " to " reserve " perhaps upset his 
system. He confessed to not " feeling very fit." 
The others, however, all seemed to have insatiable 
appetites for food and sleep. Instead of marching 
twenty miles a day on one or two meals, they now 
had their rations regularly and got very little 
exercise. They slept as if sleeping sickness was 
laying its hold upon them, and when not sleeping 
they were eating. 

The wine store had not yet been exhausted in 
the village, and very often they had a bottle with 
their suppers. The honey in the two jars seemed 

186 



TO STRAIGHTEN THE LINE 187 

inexhaustible — indeed, everybody grew tired of it 
in time ; and in the end the remnants were presented 
to another Company. The patisserie continued 
to yield new bread, and they ate such quantities of 
it, still hot from the oven, that many of them got 
" livers." They were notoriously the first Com- 
pany when it came to " looking after themselves." 
" Which," as the Senior Subaltern said, " shows 
sense." 

Once, when they had just finished their midday 
meal, the usual order " to stand to arms " came 
through, and they were hurried along the road that 
ran parallel to the river, towards Soissons. The 
march was longer than usual, and they were just 
beginning to entertain hopes that the deadlock had 
been broken and that they were once more on the 
advance, when an abrupt halt was called, and they 
were ordered to throw themselves hastily behind 
the bank along the roadside. 

They could see nothing, neither friend nor foe. 
The only sound of firing was miles and miles down 
the line, in the direction of Poussey . The Subaltern's 
Platoon happened to be the second in the leading 
Company. Already there was movement in front, 
and, crawling forward to the end of the line, he 
climbed up the bank to take stock of the position. 
To the north was a little copse, the intervening 
ground a vegetable field. Further off, to the east, 
there was a big hill, crowned with a dense-looking 
forest which, as far as he could see, was deserted. 

The Colonel, who was not to be deceived by a 
new appearance of quietude, had somehow made 



188 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

his way to the little copse, and was examining 
the hill with his glasses. The Adjutant, who had 
followed him, presently rose to his feet. 

" Bring . . . your . . . men . . . over . . . care- 
fully . . . in . . . extended . . . order ! " 

The words floated across on the wind. 

Feeling that he would like to see his men all 
safely across before he left any of them, the 
Subaltern motioned to the Sergeant to lead them, 
and they set off in a long, dotted and irregular line 
towards the thicket. 

" Hurry . . . them . . .up. Hurry ! " shouted 
the Adjutant. 

And just as the last man had left the bank, and 
he had started himself, he realised what the 
Adjutant meant. 

" Ph whizz . . . phwizz . . . phwizz." 

Like malignant wasps the bullets hummed past 
him. There was a regularity in the discharge and 
a similarity in the aim that left him no chance to 
doubt that a machine-gun had been turned on 
them. 

" I was a bit of a fool not to have gone first," 
he said to himself. 

But the bullets hummed harmlessly by his head 
and shoulders, and the thought that struck him 
most forcibly, as he plunged through the cabbages, 
was the impossibility of realising the consequences 
if any one of them had been a few inches nearer 
his head. It momentarily occurred to him to lie 
down and crawl through the cabbages, trusting to 
luck that the machine-gun would lose him; but, 



TO STRAIGHTEN THE LINE 189 

of course, the only thing was to run for it, and so 
he ploughed along. Whether the journey occupied 
more than a minute or not he is unable to say, but 
it seemed an incredible lapse of time before he 
reached the copse — and safety. 

" We shall have some artillery turned on to us 
in a minute," said the Colonel ; "we had better get 
on with the operation." 

They debouched from the copse in open order, 
and advanced in the usual lines of platoons, to 
attack the hill. 

The Subaltern loosened his sword in his scabbard, 
so that when the time came he could draw it more 
easily. He had already picked up a rifle from some 
unfortunate. 

There seemed to be a certainty of a hand-to-hand 
fight. He did not feel at all eager to kill ; on the 
other hand, he scarcely felt afraid. He just felt 
as if he grudged the passing of the yards under his 
feet which separated him from the edge of the 
wood. The idea of being " stuck " himself never 
occurred to him. 

The bullets flew about rather thickly for the 
first few minutes, but no harm was done, and then 
the enemy's resistance seemed to die down. There 
was complete silence for several minutes as our 
men plodded steadily on. Then, away on the right, 
the Colonel's whistle sounded, and a halt was 
called. 

The enemy had taken fright and had retired, 
machine-guns and all, before their advance. 

This little affair, although too small to figure in 



190 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

the communiques at home, was a great personal 
triumph for the Colonel. The enemy, having 
broken through the line and pushed his way 
almost to the banks of the river, had been driven 
back and the line straightened out, without, as far 
as the Subaltern could see, any loss whatever. 

They were not allowed to follow up this easy 
success, and consequently the enemy was still left 
in possession of a small salient. The Subaltern's 
own Company was then sent to prolong the right 
of the Battalion, and to get in touch with the 
" people " on the right. 

This was eventually done ; the " people " proving 
to be a regiment of cavalry, employed as infantry. 

In this particular part of the line the situation 
was, to say the least of it, a little muddled. The 
cavalry did not seem to be altogether at home in 
their new r61e. Their trenches seemed too small 
and detached. The front was covered with copses, 
which were continually changing hands. The whole 
line seemed to be dangerously weak, and the 
facilities for communication too precarious. The 
Subaltern regarded the whole affair as a sort of 
nightmare, and prayed fervently that they would 
not be made to stop permanently in that 
quarter. 

It appeared that they had been told off to hold 
in check the side of the salient. They took up 
their position along the edge of a wood, three or 
four yards in it. 

" We'll be shelled in about twenty minutes, so 
dig all you know," said the Captain. 



TO STRAIGHTEN THE LINE 191 

How they dug can be easily understood. They 
had only their entrenching implements, but in ten 
minutes most of them had very fair " lying down " 
cover. Ten minutes was all they were allowed. 
There was no artillery fire by the end of that time, 
but the bullets began to whizz past, or flatten 
themselves in the tree trunks. It was rather hard 
to see precisely what was happening. Black dots 
emerged from the wood, and quickly flitted back 
again. The enemy seemed rather half-hearted. 

When the attack, if attack it could really be 
called, had subsided, a Sergeant got up from some- 
where down the line, and continued work on his 
hole. There was a whizz overhead, and he dropped 
back abruptly. The Subaltern thought that he 
had realised the danger and had naturally bobbed 
down for safety, but word was passed up "to keep 
down, as Sergeant Simkins had been shot dead — 
through the heart." He never uttered a sound, 
and must have met his death instantly. 

Work was continued, but with the utmost caution. 
Meanwhile the afternoon was drawing rapidly to 
a close, and the prospect of holding such a position 
appalled the Subaltern when he thought of it. 
The Sergeant had been killed by enfilade fire. It 
was quite obvious that their line was thrown out, 
as it were, between the two general lines. Conse- 
quently they were enfiladed by the enemy, threat- 
ened very seriously on their front, on account of 
the proximity of the copses, and if forced to retire 
there was absolute certainty of being mown down 
by their own cavalry. The Senior Subaltern 



192 « CONTEMPTIBLE " 

succeeded in clearing one copse, after firing a 
few shots and making a bold advance, but had 
not sufficient men to retain it. Then, just as dark- 
ness was closing down on the hopeless tangle, a 
message was passed up to " close on the road." 

The relief at this order was impossible to 
describe. Their spirits rose meteorically. They 
scarcely succeeded in hiding their joy from the 
cavalry who were to be left in their trenches, 
and when they set off towards Poussey there was 
a wonderful swing in their step. 

In an hour's time they were back in their old 
billets, and the Officers opened a bottle of wine, 
on the strength, as some one said, of getting out 
of an " extraordinarily awkward position." 

" Well," said the Captain, with a half -full tumbler 
in his hand, " here's hoping that our wonderful 
luck keeps in." 

They drank in silence, and soon after adjourned 
to the outhouse. 



CHAPTER XXX 

THE JAWS OF DEATH 

The next morning they learned that their turn 
of duty as Local Reserve was over, and that they 
were " to take over " a line of trenches that 
evening. The Captain went alone to be shown 
round in the morning. 

They wrote letters all morning, had an early 
dinner, and retired early to the outhouse to put 
in a few hours sound sleep in anticipation of several 
" trying " nights. 

At about five o'clock they awoke, and found 
that the Captain had returned in the meantime. 
He explained the position to them as they drank 
their tea. 

" The trenches are just in the edge of a wood," 
he said. " It is extraordinarily thick. It would 
be absolutely impossible to retire. The field of 
fire is perfect. The skyline is only two hundred 
yards away, and there wouldn't be an inch of 
cover for them, except a few dead cows." 

" I shouldn't think dead cows were bullet-proof, 
should you? " asked the Senior Subaltern. 

" There's one thing you will have to watch. 
There are any amount of spies about, and they let 
o 193 



194 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

the Germans know, somehow, when the reliefs are 
coming up the road, and then the road gets searched. 
They don't know exactly where you are, you see. 
They have the road on the map, and plaster it on 
the off chance. If you see a shell burst on the 
road, the only thing to do is to get clear of it. 
Give it about forty yards' grace, and j r ou will be 
safe enough." 

Soon after they set out along a road that they 
had never travelled before, leading directly up the 
hill in front of Souvir. About half-way up, they 
almost stumbled into the holes that the German 
shells had eaten deep into the road. Evidently, 
however, the spies in Souvir had not succeeded 
in informing the enemy of their approach. There 
was perfect quietness. 

It was a stiff hill to climb, and they halted 
alongside of a battery of artillery to take breath. 
There was a deep cave in the rock, which the 
gunners had turned into a very comfortable 
" dug-out." The Subaltern envied them very 
sincerely. He felt he would have given anything 
to have been a " gunner." They had such com- 
fortable dug-outs — horses to ride — carriages to keep 
coats and things in. Above all, there could not be 
that terrible strain of waiting — waiting. 

The road curled sharply round the rock preci- 
pice, and plunged into a thick forest. A guide 
had met them, and absolute silence was ordered. 
They had breasted the rise, and were nearing the 
trenches. The road had ceased abruptly, and the 



THE JAWS OF DEATH 195 

paths that they had laboured along were nothing 
but narrow canals of mud. Here and there a few 
broken trees and mangled branches showed where 
a shell had burst. 

Hands were held up silently in front. A halt 
was ordered for a few minutes, while the leading 
Platoon moved along into its allotted trenches. 
They had arrived. 

Nothing warned the Subaltern, when at length 
he was shown the line for his own Platoon, that 
this night was to be any different from any of the 
other nights he had spent in the face of the 
enemy. 

It was not, strictly speaking, a line of trenches 
at all. As usual, each man had dug a hole by him- 
self, and each man was his own architect. Very 
few holes had been connected by a rough sort of 
trench at the back. The Captain had described 
the topography of the situation very exactly. 
The holes were dug on the borders of the forest, 
but were concealed from enemy artillery observa- 
tion by the trees. The field of fire was abso- 
lutely open. It stretched to the top of the hill, 
which formed their horizon, a distance of rather 
less than two hundred yards. It was smooth 
grass, and it struck the Subaltern as being ex- 
ceptionally green. A few dead cows, in the usual 
grotesque attitudes of animals in death, were 
scattered over the green grass. 

He selected his hole, and then began to take 
careful stock of his surroundings. The fact that 



196 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

he could see no sign of the opposite trenches per- 
haps lulled him into a sense of false security. 
Anyway, after having disposed of his haversack, 
and the sacks he had brought up with him, he 
got up from his hole, and began to walk along 
behind the holes. On the extreme left he found 
his Sergeant. 

" Well, this looks a pretty safe position," he 
said. 

" Yes, sir. I've just had a shot at a man's 
head that I thought I saw out there. I can't say 
whether or no I shot him. He disappeared quick 
enough. I should put the range at two hundred 
and fifty, sir." 

" I wonder what is on our left, here ? " he asked. 

" I don't know, sir. I haven't had time to 
look." 

" I think I had better go and find out for my- 
self." 

He set off, pursuing his way through the thick 
undergrowth and trees. It was longer than he 
thought. But all was still quiet, so the thought 
of being " spotted " in the open did not occur to 
him. 

He found the edge of the next trench. It was 
thrown forward in front of the wood. After 
making the usual arrangements that are vaguely 
called " establishing touch," he turned back out 
of the shelter of the parapet, over the dangerous 
ground. 

Twilight was deepening every second. He did 



THE JAWS OF DEATH 197 

not run; and he only hurried, because he wanted 
to get really established in his " funk hole " before 
it grew too dark to see what he was doing. 

Then, almost simultaneously, the enemy and 
the regiment in the trenches opened fire. He 
stopped short, and turned round to watch. He 
could see nothing but thin red spurts of fire in the 
grey twilight. He turned quickly on his heel, 
meaning to reach his own men before the attack 
should develop on their front, where, as yet, all 
was quiet. 

He almost reached the end of his trenches. . . . 

There was a crisp crash, a blinding light flew 
up like a circular sunset around him, a dreadful 
twinge, as of hair and skin and skull being jerked 
from his head with the strength of a giant ! For 
the millionth part of a second he was at a loss 
to understand what had happened. Then, with 
sickening horror, he realised that he had been shot 
in the head. 

It is impossible to convey with what speed 
impressions rushed through his mind. 

The flaring horizon tilted suddenly from hori- 
zontal nearly to perpendicular. His head rushed 
through half a world of black, fury-space. His 
toes and finger-tips were infinite miles behind. 
A sound of rushing waters filled his ears, like 
deathly waterfalls stamping the life from his 
bursting head. Black blurred figures, nebulous 
and meaningless, loomed up before his face. 



198 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

" Hit in the head — you're done for." 

" Hit in the head — you're done for." 

The inadequate thought chased through his 
brain. 

" What a pity, what a shame ; you might have 
been so happy, later on." 

" What a pity, what a shame ; you might have 
been so happy later on." 

He was conscious that it was a foolishly futile 
thought at a supreme moment. 

His life seemed pouring out of his head, his 
vitality was running down as a motor engine, 
suddenly cut off. He felt death descending upon 
him with appalling swiftness. Where would the 
world go to ? And what next ? 

He was afraid. 

Then, with a tremendous effort he turned his 
thoughts on God, and waited for death. 

He was swimming in that black fury-sea that 
was neither wet nor clinging. He was made of 
lead in a universe that weighed nothing. He was 
sinking, sinking. In vain he struggled. The 
dark, dry waters closed over him. . . . 

Still the waterfalls pounded in his ears, and still 
the dry waves reeled before his eyes, and under his 
head a pool, sticky and warm. 

What was that? This time surely something 
tangible and real moving towards him. With a 
supreme effort he tried to jerk his body into 
moving. His left leg moved. It moved wearily; 
but still it moved. His left arm too. 



THE JAWS OF DEATH 199 

What was this ? 

The right arm and leg were gone, gone. 

The rest of him was flabbergasted at the horror 
of the discovery. 

No, not gone ! They were there. But they 
would not move. He could not even try to move 
them. He could not so much as feel them. 

Then he awoke to the horror of the thing. 

His right side was dead ! 

The shape was really alive. It resolved itself 
into a man crawling in the darkness to his rescue. 

" You need not bother about me, I'm done for. 
Get back into the trench." 

He had a feeling that though he meant his lips 
to frame these words, he was in reality saying 
something quite different. It was an exhausting 
effort to speak. 

The form asked him questions in a fierce whisper. 
He had not the strength to understand or answer. 

Very slowly and cautiously he was dragged over 
the few yards of ground that separated him from 
the first hole. 

It was awful. His brain conceived the thought : 
" For God's sake let me die in peace." But his 
lips were all twisted, and refused to move at the 
bidding of his brain. He could only groan. 

With wonderful gentleness the man placed his 
Officer's broken head over the hole, and with the 
help of another man lowered him into it. 

His next thought was : " Well, they can only 
hit my feet, now ! " There had not been room 



200 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

in the hole for all of him, so his feet had been left 
protruding out of it. The thought fanned some 
smouldering ember of humour in him. A moment 
later he discovered with a thrill — 

" I'm going to live, I'm going to live. I will 
live ! " 

The discovery, and the resolution which fol- 
lowed, by no means excited him. He arrived quite 
quietly at the conclusion. And set his mind to 
await the development of the next event. 

The man who had dragged him in now tied the 
" first field dressing " over his head, and fastened 
the strings beneath his chin. Interminable ages 
passed slowly by, and yet the Doctor did not 
come. He regarded the arrival of the Doctor, like 
the coming of the Last Day, as the end of all 
difficulties, and the solution of many mysteries. 

Needless to say he was disappointed. The 
Doctor could naturally do little or nothing for 
him. With the aid of a match or two he " had a 
look," replaced the dressing by some bandages, 
and moved him about a little to ease his position. 
To carry him away that night, said the Doctor, 
was absolutely impossible. And with that he 
went away. 

The Senior Subaltern, who had come up with 
him, stayed a little longer, and earned his eternal 
gratitude. He made further efforts to straighten 
him out, assured him that the effects of the shock 
would wear off by morning, and that he would 
once more be able to move. He collected a few 
extra blankets and coats and spread them over 



THE JAWS OF DEATH 201 

him, for he was growing terribly cold. Then with 
cheery words on his lips he left him. 

Left alone in the silence of the night, the Subal- 
tern felt the horror of the situation take hold of 
him. He was alone with his pain and his paralysis. 
There was no hope of alleviation until morning. 
What time was it then ? he asked himself. Seven, 
at the latest. That meant eight long hours of 
agony, before anything happened ! That is what 
the wounded love and long for — something to 
happen — something to distract the attention from 
the slow, insistent pain — something to liven 
drooping spirits, and raise falling hopes. 

Slowly and surely he began to take stock of 
the situation. First of all came his head. The 
pain of the wound was an ache, a dull ache that 
sharpened into shooting pains if he moved. Still, 
he told himself that it might be worse. There 
was much worse pain in the world. It could not 
be called unbearable or excruciating. 

His spine seemed in some way twisted. It 
ached with an insistence and annoyance only 
second to the wound. All his most determined 
efforts to wriggle it straight failed lamentably. 
Indeed, he almost fancied that they made matters 
worse. 

As for the paralysed limbs, theirs was a negative 
trouble. He did not know where his right hand 
was. He had to grope about with his left hand 
under coats to find it. And when found, it was 
as if he had grasped somebody else's hand. The 
situation was weird, and in an uncanny way it 



202 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

amused and pleased him to take hold of the inert 
fingers. They were so soft and cold. The hand 
of a dead man, heavy, heavy — impossible to 
describe the dragging, inert weight of it. 

But what frightened him more than anything 
was his face. One side was drawn up, and was as 
impossible to move as the arm. The lower jaw 
seemed clamped to the upper, and it, too, ached. 
A horrible fear crept into his head. 

" Tetanus ! " 

He recalled tales of the terrible end of those 
who were marked down by this terrible disease. 
How they died in awful agony, the spine bent 
backwards like a bridge ! 

In spite of the coats, the cold seemed to eat into 
his very heart. 

He started the night bravely enough, and fought 
against his troubles until his nerve collapsed 
hopelessly. The night was too long : it was 
too much to bear. He groaned aloud in his 
agony, and discovered that it was an immense 
relief. 

The men near him began to open fire. If it 
were really an attack, it was soon beaten down, 
and he began to shriek at them for wasting precious 
ammunition that they might want when it was too 
late. He used words that he never even knew 
that he knew. Great bursts of anger, he found, 
distracted his attention from the pain, if only for 
a few moments. To this end he worked himself 
into such a transport that the bleeding re-com- 
menced, and he was forced to cease, exhausted. 



THE JAWS OF DEATH 203 

In another hour his nervous downfall was com- 
pleted. He began to cry. 

Each second of the interminable night dragged 
slowly by, as if it gloated over his pain. In the 
end it became too much for him and he fainted 
away, peacefully and thankfully. 



CHAPTER XXXI 

THE FIELD HOSPITAL 

When he came to, it was daylight, and two 
Stretcher Bearers were tugging at his feet. The 
weight of him seemed terrific, but eventually they 
hoisted him on to the stretcher. 

Some of his men gathered round, and told him 
that " they'd soon put him straight at the 
hospital." 

He smiled, rather wryly, but still he smiled, 
and mumbled : " Well, good luck, No. 5 Platoon." 

And so they carried him away, feet foremost. 

They plunged along the muddy paths. He was 
convulsed with fear that they would overturn him. 
And the jolting sent red-hot pains through his 
head, and twisted his back terribly. 

A Company came straggling up the path, led by 
no other than the Major, who had been his Company 
Commander at the beginning of the war. 

" Well, young feller, how are you ? You'll be 
all right in a day or two." 

Reply was impossible for him, and the Major 
hurried on. 

The men who followed seemed shy of him. 
They looked at him covertly, and then turned 

204 



THE FIELD HOSPITAL 205 

their eyes quickly away, as if he were some horrible 
object. It annoyed him not a little. 

That journey was the most painful thing that 
happened to him. But each sickening jolt had 
the compensation of landing him a yard nearer 
the hospital, and the hope of easing his pains 
buoyed him up somehow. 

When they arrived at the Gunner's Cave, the 
Stretcher Bearers put him resolutely down, and 
intimated that it was not " up to them " to take 
him any further. The Ambulance, they said, 
ought to be there to " take over " from them. 
But there was no sign of an Ambulance, and 
meantime he was literally thirsting for the atten- 
tions and comforts of a hospital. His natural 
reserve broke completely down. He begged, and 
entreated, and prayed them to take him on. 

After a little hesitation, they set out once more 
with a little excusable cursing and grumbling. 

It was about seven o'clock when at last they 
laid him down in the hall of the hospital, and 
departed with unfeigned gladness. 

Two Hospital Orderlies carried him along a 
passage and into the identical billiard-room that 
he had seen from the garden. 

A Doctor undid the soiled bandages with quick, 
strong fingers, and bent down to examine the 
wound with an expression of concentrated ferocity 
on his face. An Orderly brought a bowl, and the 
Doctor began to wash the place. 

It was a painful business, but nothing to be 
compared to the pain produced by the " prober." 



206 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

They even tried to shave the hair from the affected 
spot. He bore it as long as he could. But it 
was too much. His left side shook and trembled. 
It was too terrible to begin to describe. 

" It's no good," he said, "it's more than you 
can expect any one to put up with. You'll have 
to stop it." 

So they tied his head up once more, and he was 
carried upstairs into a bedroom. They lifted him 
on to the bed, managed at length to divest him 
of his jacket, turned some clothes over him, and 
left him. 

In an hour a raging fever had taken hold of him. 

Only intermittently, during the next three 
or four days, did he so much as touch the world 
of realities. The only improvement was his face, 
which had to a great extent relaxed. Otherwise 
the pain and the paralysis were the same, and all 
the time the fever raged within him. 

Somehow, when he awoke from his horrible 
dreams it was always dark. And the remarkable 
thing was that the same nightmares seemed to 
haunt him with persistent regularity. Always 
he lay down upon a hillside — nebulous black, and 
furry. Always too, he had been " left," and the 
enemy was swooping quickly down upon him. 
He would wake up to find himself once more 
inert upon the bed, would curse himself for a fool, 
and vow that never again would he allow his 
mind to drift towards that terrible thought 
again. 



THE FIELD HOSPITAL 207 

J.O. double F.R.E ? What was it ? A Name ? 
Whose ? When and Why ? He would catch him- 
self worrying about this many times. He would 
awake with a start, and realise that the solution 
was a perfectly easy matter. Then he would 
straightway fall asleep, to worry once again. 

There was a big vase on a table near the bedside. 
He took an implacable dislike to it, and longed 
to shatter it into atoms. " Horrible pretentious 
affair," he would mutter. 

When he awoke from his fever, he would always 
make frantic efforts to hang on to consciousness. 
To this end he would always call the Orderly, ask 
the time, demand water or Bovril — anything to 
keep him a little longer in touch with the 
world. 

Sometimes he would see bleared faces looking 
down upon him out of the dizzy greyness. He 
remembers being told that " the Colonel " was 
coming to see him. He never knew whether it was 
his own Colonel or some A.D.M.S. 

The thought did indeed come to him that he 
was going mad. But he had not the power to 
worry about the discovery, and insensibility would 
claim him once more before he could realise the 
terrors of insanity. 

All this time he lay on his back. It was im- 
possible to move him, but he longed to lie comfort- 
ably on his side, as he had always been accustomed 
to do. He was sure he could sleep then — ordinary 
sound sleep, free from worry, phantomless, refresh- 
ing. How he longed for it ! 



208 " CONTEMPTIBLE '? 

One evening a Doctor came to him and told him 
that they were going to move him away. The 
news was by no means a relief. He did not feel 
equal to the exertion of being carried about. He 
wanted to be allowed just to lie quietly where he 
was, and live or die, just as Fate decreed. For 
anything more, he had no energy ; and the prospect 
of another journey appalled him. 

In the dead of night four silent Orderlies heaved 
him on to a stretcher, carried him downstairs, 
and out of the chateau. His stretcher was then 
slid into an ambulance, and he awaited impatiently 
the filling of the others. 

Another stretcher was slipped in by his side. 
It was too dark to see the man upon it, but he 
was apparently suffering from the last stages of 
thirst. He had been shot through the roof of 
the mouth and the throat, and could not swallow. 
He was dying of thirst and hunger. He begged 
and entreated them for water. He pleaded with 
them, tried to bribe them, tried to order them, 
tried to bully them. It was pitiable to hear a 
strong man brought so low. And if they gave 
him a drop of water in a teaspoon, he would 
cough and choke to such a degree that it 
was obvious that too frequent doses would be the 
end of him. He would gurgle, and moan, and 
pine. It was awful. 

They were journeying to the Clearing Hospital. 
The road, bad at the best of times, was now pitted 
with shell holes, and was truly abominable. " Is 
a country," he said to himself, " that will not allow 



THE FIELD HOSPITAL 209 

its wounded pneumatic tyres to ride upon, worth 
fighting for ? " 

They jolted on through the remaining part of 
the night. At dawn they were disembarked, 
and put to rest in a little farm-house, where they 
gave them soup and milk. But there were only 
mattresses thrown on a stone floor, and the pain 
in his spine was so acute that he almost forgot 
about his head. 

His companion on the journey was placed in 
the same room. At the beginning of the night 
he had pitied the poor fellow immensely. But 
his prayers and entreaties were too pitiful to bear. 
What he must have been suffering ! It added 
an extra weight to his own burden. Thank God, 
he had never been very thirsty ! 

" Just a little water ! Just a drop. I won't 
swallow it. I won't ! I swear before Heaven 
I won't ! Just a teaspoonful ! Please ! . . . Oh ! 
I'm dying of thirst. . . . Only a drop. ... I 
won't swallow it this time. . . . There's five pounds 
in my pocket." He would gurgle and groan 
pitifully for a moment. Then in a voice, astound- 
ingly loud, but thick with blood, he would shout, 

quaveringly : " Orderly, blast you, you , give 

me some water, or I'll " 

Sad to say, there came a time when the Subaltern 
could bear it no longer. His own troubles and 
the entreaties of the other unnerved him. 

" Give him water ! Chuck it at. him ! In a 
bucket ! " he shouted in a frenzy. " Let the 
poor wretch die happy, anyway." 
p 



210 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

The Corporal in charge came over to him. 

" You might get me some milk, Corporal," he 
said. 

" For you, sir ? " 

" Oh no ! You — ■ — , to water the plants with, 
of course ! " 

" I was only asking, sir." 

" All right, Corp'ral. Can't you see I'm a little 
upset this morning ? " 

They carried him on to the Clearing Hospital 
in a motor Ambulance, and deposited him in the 
hall of a little estaminet that had been turned 
into an Officer's Hospital. 

A Doctor and Sister were conversing in low 
tones outside a closed door. 

"I'm afraid there are all the symptoms of 
enteric," she was saying. 

Neither of them took the slightest notice of 
him. But he was getting used to being carried 
about and never spoken to, like a piece of furniture. 
And the Sister entranced him. The Clearing 
Hospitals were the nearest places to the fighting- 
line that women could aspire to. He had not seen 
an English lady since leaving England. And her 
waist pleased him. Such few French peasant 
women had any waists at all. And her voice 
was higher-pitched; more intellectual, if less 
poetic. 

When the two of them had quite finished dis- 
cussing their " case " she called for an Orderly, 
and without so much as looking at him, said, " Put 



THE FIELD HOSPITAL 211 

that one in there," indicating another door. 
Another Orderly was fetched, and the painful 
business of hauling him off the stretcher on to a 
bed began once more. 

The novelty of his surroundings occupied his 
mind. The bed was soft, and his spine ceased 
to ache. A feeling almost akin to contentment 
stole over him, as they left him in the clean, cool 
bed. His companion without the throat had been 
put in another room. There was only one more 
bed in this one, and the occupant was sleeping 
peacefully. 

About four o'clock in the afternoon he heard 
the faint ring of spurred boots in the hall. 

" This is an Officer's Ward, sir," a voice was 
saying. 

The Field-Marshal Commanding-in-Chief, fol- 
lowed by another Officer only less distinguished 
than himself, came slowly in. 

" Poor boys ! " he said. " How are you getting 
on?" 

" All right, thank you, sir," he answered, 
smiling with pride. 

" Here's the latest news from England," added 
the great man, as he dropped a paper on the bed. 
The Subaltern's left hand almost shot out of bed 
to grasp it. He looked up just in time to see 
them disappearing through the doorway. 

He tried to read the paper, but the effort 
brought the very worst pains back again to his 
head, so he concealed it under the coverlet of the 
bed. He was determined to keep that paper. 



212 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

It was already growing dark, when the young 
Doctor of the Ward came to his bedside, smiling. 

"We are going to operate on you at eight o'clock," 
he said. " It will be all right. We'll soon put 
you straight." 

" Straight ? " he echoed. " Yes, I dare say 
you will ! " 



CHAPTER XXXII 

OPERATION 

The news came as a distinct shock to him. 
He had not even entertained the possibility of 
undergoing an operation. Years ago he had had 
his adenoids removed, and the memory was by 
no means pleasant. All along he had told himself 
he would recover in time — that was all he wanted. 
To have an operation was, he thought, to run 
another and unnecessary risk. 

Later in the evening the Sister came in with 
a large phial, and injected the contents into his 
arm. 

" Morphine," she explained. 

In a moment or so he felt that he did not 
care what happened. The morphine made him 
gloriously drunk. 

" Sister," he confided. "I'm drunk. It isn't 
fair to go and kill a fellow when he's drunk, you 
know. It isn't playing the game. You ought to 
suspend hostilities till I'm sober ! " 

He felt ridiculously proud of himself for these 
inanities. 

" I know you," he strutted with laughter. 
" After it's all over, you'll write home to my 

213 



214 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

people and say, ' The operation was successfully 
performed, but the patient died soon afterwards ! ' " 

By this time they had stripped him of all but 
his shirt. 

" Where's my bier ? Where's my bier ? Is a 
gentleman to be kept waiting all night for his 
bier ? " he exclaimed, with mock impatience. 

They lifted him on to a stretcher, and began 
to push it through the open window into the 
street. 

" Farewell, Ophelia ! " he cried to the Sister, 
as his head disappeared. 

He was too drunk to feel afraid. 

They carried him into the room that had been 
turned into a theatre. He found that the same 
young Doctor was to operate on him. He was 
alarmed at his youth. 

" I like a fellow to have white hair if he's to 
operate on me," he said to himself. 

Another Doctor began to adjust the ether 
apparatus. 

" Look here," he mumbled, " how do you know 
my heart's strong enough for this sort of thing ? " 

" Don't be a fool; it's your only chance." 

" Oh, all right. Have it your own way, only 
don't say I did not warn you ! " he replied. 

" Rather a character," said one of the Doctors, 
as he placed the sodden wool firmly over his nose 
and mouth. 

"Yes," replied the Sister; "he said just now 
that the operation would be unsuccessful and that 
he would die ! " 



OPERATION 215 

Drat the woman, she had spoiled his last joke ! 

He strove to explain. But the fumes were 
clutching at his senses, and he could not. The 
white walls of the room swam and bounced before 
his eyes. Rivers were pouring into his ears. 
Everything was grey and vibrating. He made a 
frantic effort to turn his thoughts towards God 
and home, " in case." But he failed to think of 
anything. 

With a jerk his senses left him. 

When he recovered his senses it was still dark, 
but he realised that he was in another room. 

And in that room he stayed for nearly a fort- 
night before the Doctor would allow him to 
proceed to the Base. 

As regards the paralysis, there was little or no 
improvement, although he thought at one time 
that he was succeeding in wagging his big toe. 
The Doctor would come in and say with mock 
petulance, " Surely you can move that finger now. 
Pull yourself together ! Make an effort ! " 

He used to make tremendous efforts. Even his 
left hand used to twitch with the effort of trying 
to move the right. 

"No, not your left; the right," the Doctor 
would say. 

Then he would laugh, and go away saying that 
it would be all right in time. 

His chief difficulty, not counting, of course, the 
perpetual headache, was his inability to sleep. 
The nights seemed interminable, and he dreaded 



216 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

them. The days were only less so because of the 
excitement of meals and being talked to by the 
Sister. They became fast friends, and she would 
tell him all about her work, her troubles with the 
Doctors and with refractory Orderlies. They used 
to laugh together over the short temper of a 
patient below, whom she used to call " Old Fiddle- 
sticks," and who seemed to be the most impatient 
of patients. Then she would wander on about 
her home, how she nursed half the year, and spent 
the remainder with her married sister in Fond- 
borough Manor. 

One day one of the Orderlies shaved him, and 
every one was surprised " to see how much better 
he looked ! " 

They used to give him aspirin, and though it 
generally failed to bring sleep, his pains would 
be relieved almost instantly, and his spirits would 
rise to tremendous heights. The only time he 
was able to sleep seemed to be between six and 
ten. He was nearly always awakened by the 
lusty voice of a peasant entering the room beneath. 
He complained to the Orderly, with the result 
that the next night the lusty voice was suddenly 
silenced. 

" Shut yer mouth, or I'll knock yer blinking 
face in ! " And Lusty Voice understood. 

At last the Doctor gave his consent for removal 
to the Base Hospital, and the Subaltern found 
himself being once more hauled on to a stretcher 
and heaved into the Ambulance. 



OPERATION 217 

They dragged him out at the station, and he 
saw the long train, each carriage brilliantly lit. 
The sight seemed so civilised that it cheered him 
not a little. 

The carriage was an ordinary " wagon-lit " 
converted with considerable ingenuity into a 
Hospital Train. He shared his compartment with 
a young Guardee, " a sitting case." 

He had no sooner settled down than a voice was 
heard calling for " Second-Lieutenant Hackett." 

" Here," replied the Guardee, without any 
enthusiasm. 

A dapper Staff Officer, so tall that he had to 
stoop to enter the compartment, drew a paper 
from his pocket. 

" You ? " he asked. " Well, Hackett, this is a 
great evening in your life, and I congratulate 
you." He shook the Guardee's left hand. " You 
have been given the D.S.O.," he added hurriedly, 
for the train had already begun to move. With 
that he disappeared. 

It was not until the following morning that the 
Sister came in to dress his wound. 

" What strong teeth you've got, boy ! " she 
said. 

Nobody knew better than he did that his teeth 
were large and tended to protrude, but it is always 
annoying to have one's defects admired. 

The Orderly was, in his way, an artist. He was 
light-handed, quick, deferential, and soothing — a 
prince among Orderlies. He produced wonderful 
tit-bits — amongst other things tinned chicken, 



218 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

sardines, chocolate, and, for the Guardee, stout ! 
Three minutes after the Sister had strictly for- 
bidden him to read, the Orderly smuggled into 
his hand the Paris Daily Mail of the day before. 
Von Moltke had been dismissed. " The first of 
the great failures," he said to himself. But the 
Sister was right; it was too painful to read. 

" What are we stopping here for ? " the Guardee 
asked once. 

" To unload the dead, sir," replied the Orderly, 
with serious suavity. 

The journey took over two days. They touched 
at Versailles and Le Mans, the Advanced Base, 
swept slowly down the broad valley of the Loire, 
past the busy town of Nantes, followed by the 
side of the estuary, oddly mixed up with the 
shipping, and eventually came to rest in the 
town of St. Nazaire, at that time the Base of the 
British Army. 



CHAPTER XXXIII 

ST. NAZAIRE 

His next home was a comfortable little bed in 
a white-painted cubicle of a boys' school that had 
been turned into a Base Hospital. When at length 
he found himself at rest in his new bed, he sighed 
with contentment. Everything was so quiet, and 
clean, and orderly. After the dirty estaminet, 
and the feverish hurry of the Clearing Hospital, 
this was indeed Peace. They gave him real 
broth to drink and real chicken to eat. And 
that night, as he sank almost for the first time into 
real sleep, he felt that heaven had been achieved. 

Life began to creep slowly into his paralysed 
limbs. With infinite labour he could force his 
first finger and thumb to meet and separate 
again. His toes wagged freely. The only fly in 
the ointment was that the " stuff they did their 
dressings with " was of a fiercer nature and hurt 
more than the previous ones. Also, the dressings 
became more frequent. 

He made great friends with the Doctor and the 
Sisters. One of them used to talk of an old 
Major in his Regiment with a tenderness that led 
him to suspect a veiled romance. He was now 

219 



220 "CONTEMPTIBLE" 

growing better daily, and was assailed with the 
insatiable hunger that follows fever. No sooner 
had he bolted down one meal than he counted 
the hours to the next. 

One day they left a meal-tray on his chest, and 
apparently forgot it. At the end of half-an-hour 
his patience abandoned him. He deliberately 
reached out and threw everything upon the floor. 
The Sister came running up to see what was the 
matter. He maintained a haughty silence. She 
picked up the aluminium plates and cups. Her 
starched dress crinkled. 

" Oh, you naughty boy ! " she said, smiling 
entrancingly. 

There was nothing for it : he burst out laughing. 

Soon afterwards it occurred to him that, as 
all he had got to do was to lie in bed and wait, 
this could be done just as easily in a London 
hospital. 

" As soon as you are well enough to travel, you 
shall go to England. Your case can be better 
treated there," the Doctor promised him. 



CHAPTER XXXIV 

SOMEWHERE IN MAYFAIR 

The speed of the train astounded him. Such 
tremendous things had happened to him since he 
had last travelled in an express train. He loved 
every English field as it passed, every hedge and 
tree. 

He was at peace with the world. The only 
blemish was that the awful war was still dragging 
on its awful course — still exacting its awful toll. 
He was rushing Londonwards — towards his 
" people " and everything he wanted. The pains 
had gone from his head, except for occasional 
headaches. And, wonder of wonders, he could 
move his whole leg and arm ! Contentment 
stole over him. He was on perfectly good terms 
with himself and the world in general. Life, after 
all, was delightful. 

The voyage had been wonderful. Not for one 
moment of the forty-eight hours that it took to 
reach Southampton did the wavelets upset the 
equilibrium of the vessel. Only the faintest 
vibration showed him that she was moving at 
all. The food had been good and plentiful, the 

221 



222 « CONTEMPTIBLE " 

attendance matchless. All things seemed to be 
" working together for good." 

While engrossed in this reverie, he awoke to 
the fact that well-known landscapes were rolling 
past his window. 

Tidshot ! There was the familiar landmark — 
the tree-crested hill and the church. The station 
flashed by, and then the well-known training 
areas. 

" Just as if I were going up to town for the 
week-end ! " he told himself. 

The familiar suburbs whizzed past. Clapham 
Junction, Vauxhall, the grinding of brakes, and 
the train was gliding quietly along Waterloo 
platform. 

An Officer boarded the train, and, in spite of a 
great deal of discussion and requests, succeeded 
in thrusting scraps of paper into every one's 
hand. 

" The Something Hospital, Chester Square," 
some one read. 

" What ? Oh, I thought you said ' The Empire 
Hospital, Leicester Square ! ' " yelled half-a-dozen 
wits almost simultaneously. 

He was carried out on his stretcher, slid into a 
St. John Ambulance, and driven to the address 
on the piece of paper, which was " not a hundred 
miles from Berkeley Square," as the Gossip writers 
put it. 

The Ambulance Stretcher Bearers carried him 
into the hall of what was evidently a private house 
" turned " into a hospital. A great many ladies 



SOMEWHERE IN MAYFAIR 223 

were standing about, all in Red Cross uniform. 
A man was there, too. Curiously enough, he was 
wearing just the coat and hat that his father 
would wear. Could it be possible ? He turned 
round ; lo and behold, it was his father ! 

" Hallo, Father ! " he said. 

The man came up. 

Both of them seemed at a loss for words. It 
was neither emotion nor sentimentality; it was 
just the lack of something to say. Taking advan- 
tage of the pause, the crowd bore down upon 
him, and by reason of their superior numbers 
drove him away, offering promises about " the 
day after to-morrow." 

They carried the Subaltern upstairs, and placed 
him in a room where two other Officers who had 
arrived on the same boat were already established. 

The Hospital was " run " by the Hon. Mrs. 
Blank, who was placing her entire house at the 
disposal of the War Office. She did everything 
herself : the feeding, equipping, providing the 
staff. The expense must have been huge. She 
worked night and day as general manageress 
of the establishment. There ought to be some 
special honour and knighthood for such women 
on this earth, and a special heaven in the next. 
The Subaltern used to feel positively ashamed of 
himself when he thought of the money, kindness 
and care that she was lavishing upon them. 

The whole Hospital was a glorious, pulsating, 
human organisation. What was wanted was done, 
not what was " laid down " in some schedule. 



224 " CONTEMPTIBLE " 

Indeed, their wishes were gratified before they 
had time to form in the mind. It was a fairyland, 
and of course the fairies were the nurses. The 
Subaltern and his two companions held a confer- 
ence on their respective merits. 

" I like the little pale brown one; she's like a 
mouse." 

" There's no comparison. Ours is the star 
turn." 

" Which is ours ? " 

"The one who dashes about?" 

"The one who upset the dinner-trays?" 

" Yes. Wasn't it funny ? I thought I should 
have died ! " 

The Doctors, this time civilians, used to come 
to him twice a day. They were quiet, reserved 
men, positively glowing with efficiency. 

They dressed his wound, tested the reflex 
actions of his nerves, gazed through holes in 
bright mirrors at his eyes, and made him watch 
perpendicular pencils moving horizontally across 
his line of vision. 

But life was racing back into his limbs. Hourly 
his strength was returning. He no longer lay 
staring listlessly in the bottom of the bed. He 
liked now to work himself up, to lose nothing of 
what was going on around, to share in the talk, 
and, until the next headache came, to live. 

He wallowed in the joy of reaching harbour. 

Such rapid progress did he make that they 
began, in a few days, to treat him as a rational 
human being. They allowed him meat, and once, 



SOMEWHERE IN MAYFAIR 225 

owing to a mistake on the part of the young 
Hurrier, a whisky-and-soda. They allowed him 
to smoke a restricted number of cigarettes, and 
to read as often as he liked. But aspirin they 
barred. 

He had not many friends in London, so during 
visiting hours he was left in comparative peace. 

One morning his mother came. As the door 
opened and she hurried into the room with her 
quick, bird-like grace, he felt that she was a 
stranger to him. Somehow their old intimacy 
seemed dissolved, and would have, piece by piece, 
to be built up again. Her round, appealing eyes 
of palest brown stirred him as no other eyes — even 
her own — had ever done before. 

Her slim shoulders delighted him. 

" Waddles ! " he said; " you're priceless ! " 

He loved to call her " Waddles." 

They asked the Doctor when he would be likely 
to be able to go home. 

" As soon as the wound is covered over," he 
replied, " there is no reason why he should not 
go home. Providing he could get massage and 
proper treatment." 

The gas darkly illuminated the sombre red of 
the walls and glimmered on the polished mahogany. 
The fire, too, glowed red. Outside, the wind was 
sighing softly in the pine-trees. 

The bed seemed huge and its capacity for com- 
fort enormous. The cool sheets seemed to caress 
his legs. His whole nervous system was delight- 



226 ' CONTEMPTIBLE ' 

fully wearied with the achievement of reaching 
home. 

The local Doctor had promised that he could 
treat him perfectly well, and he had been allowed 
to leave the Hospital. 

He could hear the paws of his spaniel padding 
softly on the carpet in the landing. He could 
hear the voices of his father and sister in the 
hall. . . . 

Peace after the storm ! The harbour reached 
at last. 

" It seems to be impossible to believe it's true," 
he murmured to himself. 

" Are you quite ready ? " asked his mother. 

She was standing beneath the gas-bracket, one 
hand raised to the handle. The light silhouetted 
her impertinent little nose and glimmered in her 
dusky hair. 

Then with a jerk she turned out the light. 



THE END 



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